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A   TROUBLED    HEART 


HOW   IT   WAS  COMFORTED  AT   LAST. 


dW-r-fes    NMa-^K^-n     bfodia^l 


> i 


A 


Troubled  Heart 


HOW  IT  W/iS  COMFORTED 


AT    LAST. 


JOSEPH    A.    LYONS 

1885. 


COPYRIGHT, 


By  Joseph  A.  Lyons,  Notre  Dame,  Inb. 


i- 


TO 

The   Rev.   Daniel  E.   Hudson,    C   S.  C, 

THIS 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY     IS     LOVINGLY 

INSCRIBED, 


A   WORD   TO   THE    READER. 


Let  it  amaze  no  one  that  I  have  at  last 
chosen  to  unveil  my  heart  to  the  possibly 
unsympathetic  eye  of  the  general  reader. 

Again  and  again,  and  yet  again,  I  have 
been  curiously  questioned  by  those  who 
could  not  follow  in  the  path  which  led 
me  away  from  my  kinsmen  and  my  com- 
rades, and  to  whom  the  mysterious  influ- 
ences which  I  found  irresistible  were  un- 
known, or  with  whom  they  were  of  no 
avail. 

What  my  lips  dared  scarcely  utter — 
for  the  decorous  recital  of  an  experience 
so  precious  to  me  demanded  fit  audience 
and  a  seasonable  hour — my  pen  in  the 

(?) 


8  PREFACE. 

serene  solitude  of  my  chamber  has  re- 
lated unreservedly  through  the  pages  of 
the  Ave  Maria. 

O  blessed  task  accomplished!  I  have 
set  my  lamp,  though  feeble  be  its  flame, 
where  perchance  it  may  light  the  feet 
of  some  bewildered  pilgrim.  I  have  cast 
my  bread  upon  the  waters,  hopefully 
awaiting  the  return — after  many  days. 


Notre  Dame,  Ind., 
Feast  of  the  Purification,  1885. 


'Fool,  said  the  spirit  unto  me,  look  into  thy  heart  and  write. yy 

Sir  Philip  Sidney. 

'  The  heart  hath  its  tears. " 

Father  Faber. 


A  TROUBLED   HEART.  II 


OV 


W7J*sit 


I  was    a    lonely   child.     Blessed   with 
brothers  and  a  sister  near  my  own  age  ;? 
nourished  always  in  the  tenderest  pater-, 
nal  and    maternal   love;    surrounded    by? 
troops  of  friends,  whose  affection  was  won 
without  effort,  and  whose  sympathy  was 
shown    in    a    thousand    pretty,    childish 
ways,  I  was  still  lonely,  and  often  lone- 
liest when  least  alone. 

It  was  my  custom,  when  my  heart  was 
light  and  my  spirit  gay,  to  steal  apart 
from  my  companions,  and,  throwing  my- 
self upon  the  lawn,  look  upon  them  in  * 
their  sports  as  from  a  dim  distance. 
Their  joy  was  to  me  like  a  song,  to  which 
I  listened  with  a  kind  of  rapture,  but  in 
which  I  seldom  or  never  joined.  Love, 
intense    and    absorbing    love,    and    love 


12  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

alone,  was  my  consolation.  This  love  I 
know,  and  have  always  known,  but  love 
has  its  antipode  :  it  is  not  hate,  but  fear. 
Very  early  in  life  I  learned  to  know 
fear.  I  was  afraid  of  strange  faces,  and 
more  than  all  else,  I  was  afraid  of  the 
dark.  How  often,  when  alone  in  my 
room  at  night,  have  I  buried  my  face 
in  my  pillow,  to  shut  out  the  visions  I 
saw  not,  yet  feared  that  I  might  see  ! 
When  the  light  was  extinguished,  I 
seemed  suddenly  translated  to  some  un- 
known world,  which  my  imagination 
peopled  vaguely,  and  the  approach  of 
these  invisible  and  shapeless  forms  was 
what  I  dreaded.  Alas !  how  many  inno- 
cent little  ones  are  now  suffering  as  I 
was  wont  to  suffer  in  the  solitude  of  the 
night,  when  a  single  syllable  of  love 
might  dispel  the  direst  chimeras  !  The 
God  to  whom  I  had  been  taught  to  pray 
— whose  majesty  and  glory  were  beyond 
my  comprehension;  whose  image  was 
not    before    me ;     whose     nature    came 


A   TROUBLED   HEART.  I  3 

not  within  the  range  of  my  conception — 
that  God  seemed  never  to  have  set  one 
star  of  hope  within  the  blackness  of  dark- 
ness that  flooded  the  fearful  night  of  my 
infancy.  It  was  not  the  love  of  God  that 
filled  my  heart  then,  but  rather  the  fear 
of  Him  who  I  had  been  taught  was 
a  jealous  God,  visiting  His  wrath  upon 
the  sinful:  and  were  we  not  all  sinners? 
No  voice  spoke  to  me  out  of  that  fathom- 
less gloom  ;  I  drifted  on  and  on,  among 
formless  shades,  tremblingly  awaiting  the 
return  of  day. 

•         •••••• 

Our  old  home  in  the  city  stood  upon  a 
street  corner,  opposite  a  Gothic  church 
built  of  rough  gray  stone.  Every  morn- 
ing this  church  was  thronged ;  on  Sun- 
days it  seemed  to  me  that  services  would 
never  end  there,  and  this  amazed  me;  for 
we  children  were  taken  to  a  church  on 
Sunday  only  —  a  day  which  was  called 
"Sabbath"  among  my  people, —  and  when 
the  eleven-o'clock  sermon  was  ended,  and 


14  A   TROUBLED   HEART. 

the  "Sabbath  school,"  which  followed  it, 
was  over, we  returned  home,  and  remained 
there,  being  too  young  to  be  taken  out  to 
the  evening  sermon  or  lecture. 

Many  a  time  did  I  listen  to  the  music 
that  was  wafted  from  that  beautiful  church 
over  the  way.     It  was  music  unlike  any 
that  I  had  ever  heard, —  music  that  soothed 
and  comforted  me,  yet  at  the  same  time 
filled  me  with  an  indefinable  yearning.  At 
evening,  when  the  light  streamed  through 
the  richly-tinted  windows;  when  beyond 
the  doors  that  swung  to  and  fro  I  caught 
glimpses  of  clustering    tapers,    twinkling 
like  dim  stars  through   clouds  of  vapor; 
when  I  heard  thrilling  voices  soaring  in 
ecstasy  above  the  solemn  swell  of  the  or- . 
gan, —  it  seemed  to  me  that  heaven  must 
be  in  there;  the  heaven  which  my  mind 
refused  to  picture,    and    the    thought    of 
which,  until  now,  had  been  embittered  by  ; 
the  cruel    shadow  of   death.     Once,  and 
once  only,  did  I   enter  this  chapel  —  my 
little  heaven  on    earth.     I    went    thither 


A  TROUBLED   HEART.  I  5 

with  our  maid ;  I  had  begged  her  to  take 
me,  and,  without  leave,  we  went  together. 
We  were  early:  the  lights  burned  dimly 
in  the  gathering  twilight ;  I  saw  for  the 
first  time  in  my  life  a  picturesque  interior: 
tapering  columns,  pointed  arches,  rose- 
windows,  pictures,  statues,  and  frescos.  I 
saw  an  altar  that  inspired  me  with  curious 
awe;  a  throng  of  worshippers,  who  knelt 
humbly,  and  prayed  incessantly,  so  that 
the  quiet  of  the  chapel  was  broken  by  the 
soft  murmur  of  lisping  lips.  Some  one 
in  a  long  dark  robe  came  from  a  hidden 
chamber  and  lighted  the  candles  upon 
the  altar.  This  figure  seemed  of  an  un- 
natural height,  and  more  slender  than 
any  human  being  I  had  ever  known ;  the 
dark  robe  clung  weirdly  in  long,  straight 
folds ;  a  strange  covering  was  on  the  head  ; 
it  was  the  beretta.  Where  had  I  seen 
something  like  this  before  ?  I  grew  pale 
as  I  tried  to  recall  a  race  of  beings  clad 
in  these  garments,  and  of  whose  history 
I  had  somehow  gained  a  knowledge.    Then 


I 6  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

a  priest  in  cope,  attended  by  a  long  train 
of  acolytes,  approached  the  altar:  a  faint- 
ness  and  horror  seized  me,  and,  while  the 
hearts  of  the  worshippers  joined  the  rap- 
turous Alleluia  of  the  choir,  I  was  borne 
from  the  chapel  in  a  paroxysm  of  terror. 
Now  I  knew,  or  thought  I  knew,  who 
these  mysterious  beings  were;  I  had  seen 
them  day  after  day  passing  to  and  fro  in 
a  grove  overshadowing  one  wall  of  the 
chapel.  These,  then,  were  the  dark-robed 
beings  who,  book  in  hand,  sat  or  walked 
in  the  priests'  garden,  and  whose  nature 
in  their  passage  between  the  priests'  house 
and  the  sanctuary  had  never  been  clearly 
revealed  to  me;  indeed,  they  seemed  more 
shadowy  than  real  as  I  saw  them,  over  the 
hedges,  flitting  in  the  sombre  twilight  of 
the  grove.  They  were  such  as  I  had  seen 
again  and  again  as  I  turned  with  flutter- 
ing heart  the  leaves  of  a  volume  in  our 
library  —  a  chosen  volume  of  Sabbath 
reading,  since  it  was  profusely  illustrated 
with  full-page  engravings.     All  that  it  is 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  I  7 

possible  to  devise  in  the  shape  of  human 
torture  was  depicted  in  this  extraordinary 
book  with  a  boldness  that  was  hardly 
short  of  brutality.  I  returned  to  it  with 
fearful  interest,  fascinated  by  its  horrors ; 
it  added  a  new  agony  to  night's  dark  and 
wakeful  hours;  and  now,  for  the  first  time, 
I  was  persuaded  that  the  book  was  truth, 
and  not  a  hideous  fable !  From  that  hour 
for  long  afterward  I  could  not  be  prevailed 
upon  to  occupy  my  chamber  alone,  and 
often  it  was  necessary  to  leave  the  lamp 
lighted  until  I  had  fallen  asleep. 

That  book  was  a  Protestant  version  of 
the  Spanish  Inquisition. 


1 8  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 


II. 


The  fear  I  had  of  the  dark-robed  priests, 
whom  I  saw  daily  moving  about  in  the 
shadow  of  the  chapel,  over  the  way,  grew 
apace.  I  solemnly  believed  that  if  I  were 
to  wander  upon  the  other  side  of  the 
street,  alone  and  unprotected,  one  of  those 
grave  figures  would  suddenly  pounce  upon 
me,  bear  me  away  into  the  gloom  of  the 
grove,  and  the  world  would  never  again 
see  me,  or  know  aught  of  the  tortures  to 
which  I  had  been  duly  subjected.  Nor 
did  this  conviction  make  me  any  the  hap- 
pier during  the  long  hours  I  spent  in  the 
Protestant  church,  whither  I  was  invaria- 
bly taken  on  the  "  Sabbath  "  day. 

The  meeting  house  was  a  large,  plas- 
tered building;  severely  simple  in  design, 
and  of  the  homeliest  description  within. 
There  was  a  stiff,  high  pulpit,  with  a  red 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  19 

cushion  upon  it,  and  faded  red  draperies 
behind  the  sofa,  upon  which  the  minister 
sat  during  the  singing  of  the  hymns.  The 
pews  were  upholstered  in  red,  or  green, 
or  brown,  according  to  the  taste  of  the 
different  owners ;  but  all  else  within  the 
building  was  of  the  dullest  gray  ;  even  the 
ungainly  windows  (which  might  have  been 
tinted,  for  the  sake  of  the  agreeable  light 
they  would  then  have  given)  were  painted 
white,  and  a  thick  coating  of  dust  upon 
the  exterior  made  this  a  dirty  gray.  There 
was  nothing  in  all  that  dreary  building 
for  the  eye  to  fall  on  with  a  sense  of  rest; 
nothing  to  soothe  or  comfort  the  heart; 
nothing  to  touch  the  soul,  or  to  lift  it  even 
for  a  moment  above  the  commonplaces 
of  life. 

From  the  moment  the  preacher  rose  in 
his  pulpit  to  "give  out  "  the  hymns,  — 
hymns  which  were  not  pleasing  to  the  ear, 
and  when  drawled  by  a  congregation  of 
indifferent  and  uncultivated  voices  be- 
came anything  but  edifying, —  I  began  to 


20  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

long  for  the  moment  when  we  might  all 
get  out  of  the  place  again  into  the  open 
air.  The  minister  stood  with  his  eyes  shut 
and  his  hands  spread  out,  while  he  made 
very  long,  wandering  prayers,  at  the  close 
of  which  everybody  bustled  and  stirred 
with  an  audible  sense  of  relief.  When  his 
sermon  was  well  begun,  the  congregation 
settled  into  easy  postures,  and  the  monot- 
onous droning  of  his  voice  soon  had  visi- 
ble effect  upon  some  of  us ;  heads  began 
to  nod  in  various  parts  of  the  house,  and 
it  was  with  a  kind  of  fascination  that  I 
watched  the  bald  pate  of  an  old  gentle- 
man, wTho  sat  in  front  of  us,  as  it  lolled 
upon  his  shoulders,  and  was  suddenly 
jerked  up  again  at  intervals,  while  the 
owner  of  it  turned  angrily  from  right  to 
left,  with  an  expression  of  mingled  shame 
and  defiance. 

I  never  comprehended  anything  the 
minister  said.  The  monotonous  two  hours 
that  comprised  the  sum  and  substance  of 
that  worship  seemed  an  eternity  to  me; 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  21 

I  dreaded  it  in  anticipation,  and  was 
dragged  through  it  Sunday  after  Sunday 
in  dumb  misery.  Sometimes,  when  a  win- 
dow was  drawn  down  from  the  top,  a  sun- 
beam, shattered  upon  the  waters  of  a  canal 
that  flowed  under  one  wall  of  the  build- 
ing, was  reflected  upon  the  ceiling  over- 
head, where  it  danced  like  a  flock  of 
golden  butterflies,  and  I  was  innocently 
happy  in  watching  the  airy  gambols  of 
those  phantom  moths.  But  not  every"  Sab- 
bath" was  I  so  fortunate.  It  was  a  happy 
day  for  me  when,  twisting  and  turning 
my  neck  in  childish  curiosity,  I  discov- 
ered a  picture  upon  the  screen  beyond 
which  the  organ-blower  was  secreted;  it 
was  an  outline  of  an  angel, —  an  angel 
floating  through  the  air  with  a  lute  poised 
lightly  upon  his  breast.  Here  was  some- 
thing for  me  to  dream  over  —  something 
to  help  me  to  forget  for  the  time  being 
the  weariness  of  the  "  Sabbath  "  infliction 
I  was  destined  to  endure:  sickness  alone 
being    a  valid    excuse   for    our   stopping 


22  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

away  from  the  "  house  of  worship," — the 
sickness  which,  I  fear,  we  often  longed 
for.  My  angel  in  the  organ-loft  consoled 
me  for  a  little  time  only;  some  one  in  the 
pew  behind  me  had  noted  my  wicked 
fondness  for  turning  my  back  upon  the 
minister.  One  day,  in  the  midst  of  my 
revery,  when  my  heart  was  in  the  skies 
with  that  celestial  messenger,  the  man  in 
the  pew  behind  me  seized  me  abruptly  by 
the  shoulders  and  turned  me  face  about. 
I  was  startled  and  abashed ;  I  feared  to 
look  again  upon  the  one  object  in  that 
dismal  house  that  could  lead  my  thoughts 
to  heaven.  My  last  resource  was  my 
father's  watch.  With  my  head  nestled 
upon  his  arm,  and  his  watch  ticking  softly 
in  my  ear,  I  soon  fell  asleep  ;  and  if  I 
awoke  to  find  that  the  minister  was  silenced, 
and  the  congregation  preparing  for  the 
general  visitation  which  took  place  at  the 
close  of  each  service,  I  was  grateful  for 
the  deliverance  that  left  me  free  of  a  repe- 
tition of  this  mild  torture  for  seven  whole 
days. 


A   TROUBLED    HE?A^  ]J  \  23 


OT" 


^tlPOBT 


in. 


When  I  was  about  ten  years  of  age, 
we  children  were  taken  by  our  mother 
into  a  far  country,  whither  our  father  had 
preceded  us.  Our  life  there  was  exciting 
and  romantic;  for  we  were  upon  the 
frontier,  in  a  new  land,  among  gold-seek- 
ers and  adventurers;  and  the  children, 
who  were  then  few  in  number,  were  made 
much  of.  Two  years  later  it  was  my  lot, 
and  my  choice  also,  to  be  sent  upon  a 
long  sea-voyage,  as  companion  to  an 
older  brother,  who  was  an  invalid,  in 
search  of  health.  For  three  months  we 
were  tossed  upon  the  waves  without  set- 
ting foot  on  shore.  Our  ship  was  a  fine 
one,  certainly ;  but  the  captain's  wife  was 
the  only  woman  on  board,  and  there  was 
but  one  other  passenger  beside  my 
brother  and  myself.     I   had  not  yet    ac- 


24  A  TROUBLED    HEART. 

quired  a  taste  for  reading  ;  I  soon  grew 
weary  of  playing  with  the  toy-ships  the 
sailors  made  for  me  ;  land  we  saw  only 
for  a  few  days — not  more  than  five  out 
of  the  ninety  odd, — and  it  was  seldom 
that  our  eyes  were  gladdened  by  the 
glimmer  of  a  distant  sail.  It  was  a  sad 
experience  for  me  ;  and  my  brother, 
whose  health  was  little  benefited,  was 
scarcely  able  to  keep  me  from  yielding  to 
despair. 

Upon  leaving  home,  my  mother's  last 
injunction  was  to  read  daily  some  chap- 
ters of  my  Bible,  and  this  I  never  failed 
to  do.  What  solemn  hours  were  mine, 
alone  in  my  cramped  state-room,  poring 
over  that  wonderful  volume,  and  every 
day  becoming  more  and  more  perplexed 
with  its  histories  and  mysteries  !  I  did 
not  then  know  that  the  wisest  heads  have 
disputed  over  it ;  that  while  it  is  the 
fountain  of  all  love,  it  has  likewise  watered 
the  seeds  of  all  dissension.  It  is  reason- 
able to  suppose  that  the  most  vigorous 


A  TROUBLED  HEART.  25 

exercise  of  my  private  judgment  was  not 
likely  to  aid  me  in  the  interpretation  of 
even  the  simplest  text.  My  mental  hori- 
zon seemed  to  grow  more  and  more  lim- 
ited  as  I  advanced;  I  was  swallowed  up  in 
a  solitude  as  vast  as  the  sea,  and  seemed 
to  be  drifting  upon  a  shoreless  waste  of 
waters — alone,  helpless,  hopeless. 

Again  and  again  I  wept  in  my  perplex- 
ity. There  was  nothing  for  me  to  cling  to, 
not  even  a  straw ;  no  light  shone  dimly 
upon  my  pathway ;  no  voice  comforted 
me  in  the  awful  silence  of  that  weary 
voyage  ;  and  when,  at  night,  I  had  kissed 
my  brother  as  he  lay  upon  his  painful 
pillow,  and  had  climbed  into  my  berth, 
I  heard  the  hiss  of  rushing  waters  under 
the  keel  of  the  ship,  and,  thinking  of  the 
thousand  dangers  that  beset  the  mariner 
upon  the  trackless  sea,  I  buried  my  face 
in  my  hands  and  trembled  in  an  agony  of 
suspense. 


26  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 


IV. 


At  last  we  came  to  port  and  landed 
safely,  three  thousand  miles  from  home — 
twelve  thousand  by  the  route  we  had 
travelled.  For  a  few  weeks  I  was  merry 
enough  ;  pleased  with  the  novelty  of  con- 
stant change,  diverted  with  much  visit- 
ing, and  likewise  with  the  little  local  no- 
toriety which  my  juvenile  adventures  by 
land  and  sea  had  brought  me,  I  had  no 
care  but  for  the  present:  the  delights  of 
the  moment  drove  from  my  heart  the 
shadow  of  a  parting  that  was  soon  to 
be. 

My  brother  shortly  set  forth,  alone, 
upon  his  return  voyage,  and  I  was  left  in 
charge  of  my  grandfather,  who  was  a 
thrifty  New-England  farmer.  This  good 
man  proposed  to  place  me  at  a  neighbor- 
ing school,  of  some  repute  in  that  part  of 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  2J 

ine  country;  there  he  could  visit  me  at 
intervals,  and  it  was  his  hope  that  my 
vacations  might  be  spent  with  him.  I 
did  not  especially  relish  the  prospect;  for 
though  he  loved  me  dearly,  and  was  not 
slow  to  show  it,  we  were  not  much  in 
sympathy.  He  was  a  very  honest,  practi- 
cal, much  respected  man,  of  a  pronounced 
Protestant  type:  relentless  and  even 
stubborn  in  his  narrow  religious  views; 
he  was  one  in  whose  veins  the  blood  had 
flowed  coldly  from  the  dark  days  of  the 
Plymouth  Puritans.  Often  did  I  see  him 
nervously  pacing  the  floor,  that  shook  be- 
neath his  tread,  singing  with  triumphant 
voice  these  lurid  lines  : 

"  On  slippery  rocks  I  see  them  stand, 
While  fiery  billows  roll  below." 

I  know,  and  I  knew  even  then,  that  he 
believed  this  to  be  the  fate  of  all  those 
whose  faith  was  not  his  faith  ;  and  yet  I 
never  heard  of  his  having  done  any  one 
an  injury,  and  when  he  died,  a  sketch  of 


28  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

his  life  became  one  of  the  popular  vol- 
umes in  the  "Sabbath-School  "  libraries. 

The  new  grief  in  the  separation  from 
my  brother  was  gradually  wearing-  away. 
I  liked  my  school,  which  was  situated 
about  twelve  miles  from  the  farm.  Once 
a  fortnight  my  grandfather  drove  over  to 
see  me,  and  usually  brought  with  him 
some  little  gift  from  the  old  homestead 
or  from  the  far-away  home.  Occasionally 
I  passed  a  Saturday  holiday  and  Sun- 
day with  my  grandparents,  and  stores  of 
baked  apples,  tarts,  and  hickory-nuts  com- 
forted me  in  that  quiet  house. 

I  was  forming  new  friendships  at  school, 
the  fond  friendships  of  boyhood — roman- 
tic, chivalrous,  noble  ;  we  showed  one  an- 
other a  kind  of  devotion  worthy  of  young 
knighthood,  for  we  were  the  champions  of 
a  wholesome  and  hearty  love.  Of  course 
I  was  subject  to  periodical  attacks  of  home- 
sickness,— what  child  away  from  home  is 
not  ? — but  my  new  friends  rallied  in  such 
force,   and   covered    me  with    such    com- 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  29 

forting  caresses,  that  my  tears,  though 
stormy,  were  soon  dried,  and  I  was  a 
happy  boy  once  more. 

Even  the  long  sermons  on  Sunday 
seemed  to  have  lost  something  of  their 
terrors  for  me.  Perhaps  this  was  because 
we  boys  used  to  troop  into  church  in  a 
body,  and  sit  in  a  corner,  with  our  chosen 
companions  next  us;  no  doubt  a  little 
spirit  of  mischief,  that  was  always  with 
us,  helped  to  keep  us  wide  awake  till  the 
close  of  the  service. 

As  the  winter  vacation  drew  nigh  we 
were  all  excitement.  A  thousand  plans 
were  laid  and  unlaid  and  relaid,  over  and 
over ;  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  most 
joyful  season  of  my  life  was  drawing  on. 
I  had  been  formally  invited  to  spend  the 
holidays  with  my  bosom  friend,  in  the 
society  of  his  family,  at  their  elegant 
home  in  the  city.  All  the  delights  of  the 
gay  season  in  the  metropolis  had  been 
promised  us,  and  the  vision  of  Christmas- 
tide   was   ever    before   our    half-dazzled 


30  A   TROUBLED    HEART 

eyes.  It  seemed  to  us  that  the  joyful  day 
of  our  departure  would  never,  never 
come. 

It  never  did  !  In  the  midst  of  our  en- 
thusiastic preparations  for  departure,  I 
received  from  my  grandfather  an  earnest 
request  to  abandon  the  proposed  visit 
and  return  to  him.  What  could  I  do  ? 
I  parted  tearfully  with  my  loved  compan- 
ion, and  with  a  heavy  heart  obeyed. 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  31 


The  snow  lay  in  deep  drifts  along  the 
country  road ;  the  fences  were  often  hid- 
den, and  much  of  the  landscape,  so  beau- 
tiful in  summer,  seemed  to  have  been 
effaced  forever.  Never  did  the  old  farm- 
house look  so  desolate  and  forlorn:  its 
windows  half  masked  in  snow,  long  icicles 
hanging  from  the  eaves,  and  the  brook 
frozen  over  and  buried  out  of  sight. 

I  did  not  know  why  I  had  been  called 
back  to  the  farm;  but  very  shortly  my 
grandfather,  whose  custom  it  was  to  read 
aloud  a  chapter  in  the  Bible  night  and 
morning,  and  follow  the  reading  with  an 
extempore  prayer,  gave  me,  through  the 
medium  of  his  prayer,  an  inkling  of  it. 

It  seemed  that  an  "Evangelist" — one 
of  those  illiterate  enthusiasts  who  profess 
special  inspiration  from  the  Almighty  — 


32  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

had  fixed  upon  a  neighboring  village  as  a 
proper  field  for  his  labors ;  and  there  he 
was  daily  and  nightly  holding  meetings 
of  a  sensational  character.  The  conver- 
sions which  took  place  under  his  minis- 
trations were  catalogued  and  advertised 
far  and  wide. 

I  found  my  grandparents  very  seriously 
disposed.  I  hardly  dared  to  speak.  Pres- 
ently my  grandfather  took  me  aside  and 
asked  me  if  I  did  not  choose  to  love  God. 
Most  assuredly  I  did,  but  I  had  never  yet 
learned  how;  for  the  only  God  I  knew 
inspired  fear  rather  than  love.  Much  was 
said  to  me  about  a  "change  of  heart," and 
said  in  such  a  way  that  I  began  to  feel  my 
heart  must  be  black  indeed  and  greatly  in 
need  of  being  changed ;  and  I  the  most 
hardened  of  sinners,  because  the  very 
sight  of  the  "Evangelist"  repelled  me, 
and  my  soul  sickened  whenever  he  or  his 
works  were  mentioned.  My  hour  of  trial 
had  come.  I  was  daily  driven  three  miles 
through  the  snow  by  my  grandfather,  who 


A   TROUBLED    HEART. 


S3 


would  not  hear  of  our  missing  a  single 
meeting,  let  it  storm  or  shine.  Sometimes 
we  were  at  the  church  door  before  it  was 
open,  for  promptness  was  one  of  the  good 
man's  crowning  virtues.  In  these  emer- 
gencies  I  remained  in  the  sleigh,  while  my 
grandfather  hunted  up  the  key  of  the 
meeting  house,  split  the  wood,  and  kin- 
dled a  fire  in  the  huge  stove  within.  Then 
we  sat  down  in  silence,  and  awaited  the 
arrival  of  the  less  energetic  villagers. 
Beginning  with  a  chill,  that  seized  me  be- 
fore the  fire  was  lighted,  I  was  gradually 
driven  into  a  fever  through  the  badly-ven- 
tilated, over-crowded  room,  the  heat  of 
the  red-hot  stove,  and  the  unwholesome 
excitement  that  prevailed. 

There  was  a  bench  under  the  pulpit 
which  was  known  as  the  "  anxious  seat"! 
All  those  who  were  willing  to  acknowl- 
edge themselves  sinners  —  I  remember 
that  the  large  majority  considered  them- 
selves not  such; — all  those  who  desired 
the  prayers  of  the  prayerful  for  their  sal- 


34  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

vation;  all  those  who  were  seeking,  or 
desiring,  or  even  willing  to  accept  that 
"change  of  heart,"  which  was  pronounced 
the  one  thing  needful,  were  requested  to 
step  forward  in  the  face  of  the  multitude 
and  boldly  station  themselves  on  this 
"anxious  seat," — or  kneel  by  it  if  they 
preferred  to  do  so, —  and  there  undergo 
the  ordeal  of  prayer.  The  spectacle  was 
humiliating  beyond  expression.  Nervous 
excitement  and  the  loss  of  all  self-control 
drove  the  timid  and  shamefaced  forward 
upon  this  rack  of  torture.  Some  of  them, 
embarrassed  and  bewildered,  wrung  their 
hands  and  cried  aloud.  Once  there,  they 
were  not  permitted  to  retreat,  but,  sur- 
rounded by  half-frantic  men  and  women, 
whose  flushed  faces  and  flashing  eyes  were 
fearful  to  behold,  they  were  held  forcibly 
upon  the  bench,  where  they  suffered  the 
torments  of  the  damned,  until  the  close 
of  the  session. 

And  I  also  suffered  alike  with  these.     I 
also  was  seized  by  the  arm  and  shaken, 


A    TROUBLED    HEART.  35 

because  I  had  stolen  into  a  back  seat, 
stupefied  with  fear,  and  knew  not  when 
I  might  go  mad  like  the  rest  of  them. 
Again  I  was  wickedly  shaken,  and  a  wild 
voice  shouted  in  my  ear:  "  Child,  don't 
you  want  to  be  saved?"  God  knows  I 
did.  "  Don't  you  want  to  be  a  Christian  ?" 
I  didn't  know  what  it  meant  to  be  a 
Christian :  but  I  didn't  want  to  be  a 
Christian  if  they  were  Christians;  so  I 
clenched  my  hands  and  clung  to  my 
seat,  frozen  with  terror.  Then  I  was 
dragged  from  the  pew  and  pushed  toward 
the  pulpit,  while  horrid  voices  almost 
shrieked  in  my  ears :  "  Don't  you  want 
to  be  saved  ?  Do  you  want  to  die 
now,  this  very  minute,  and  burn  forever 
in  hell?  Don't  you  want  to  be  a  Chris- 
tian?" The  lie  was  forced  to  my  trembling 
lips,  and  I  said  "Yes."  From  that  anxious 
seat  I  was  borne,  half  senseless,  into  the 
open  air,  and  permitted  to  remain  there. 
Still  I  heard  the  shrieks  and  sobs  of  the 
miserable  victims  within  the  walls  of  that 


2,6  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

bedlam,  and   all  things   seemed  to  swim 
before  my  eyes. 

It  is  years  since  I  underwent  that  de- 
grading inquisition  :  to-day  I  cannot  think 
of  it  without  a  shudder. 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  $7 


VI. 


I  know  not  how  long  I  could  have 
withstood  the  shock  which  I  daily  expe- 
rienced in  that  demoralized  community. 
I  was  threatened  with  nervous  prostra- 
tion, and  every  hour  I  grew  more  feeble 
and  more  excited.  At  night,  as  I  lay  in 
my  bed,  in  a  small  chamber  under  the 
gable-roof,  where  the  frosty  stars  seemed 
to  blink  at  me  through  the  low  window 
with  cold,  sharp  eyes,  I  wondered  why  so 
miserable  a  sinner  as  I  was  permitted  to 
live  unpunished;  and  when  the  wintry 
wind  was  blowing  and  moaning  under  the 
eaves,  I  trembled  where  I  lay,  for  it  seemed 
to  me  that  a  just  judgment  was  about  to 
be  visited  upon  me. 

I  cannot  but  pity  myself — though  self- 
pity  is  a  dangerous  thing  —  when  I  look 
back  upon  my  youth.     I  can  still  remem- 


38  A   TROUBLED   HEART. 

ber  my  thoughts,  my  aspirations,  my 
blind  hopes,  and  the  unsatisfied  yearning 
that  swelled  my  tender  heart  almost  to 
bursting ;  and  I  know  that  I  was  not  a 
bad  boy,  or  certainly  not  the  bad  boy  — 
the  very  bad  and  wicked  boy  —  I  imag- 
ined myself  to  be  as  I  lay  awake  in  that 
little  chamber  those  dreary  winter  nights, 
and  wished  —  yes,  wished  I  had  never 
been  born! 

Just  at  this  time  I  received  a  letter  from 
my  paternal  grandfather,  who  lived  at  a 
considerable  distance  from  the  old  farm; 

grandfather    S in  his  letter,  knowing 

that  my  vacation  had  come,  wrote  a  most 
urgent  invitation  for  me  to  visit  him,  and 
spend  at  least  a  portion  of  my  holidays 
at  his  home.  It  seemed  to  me,  poor  little 
frightened  fool  that  I  was  —  it  seemed  to 
me  that  it  was  my  duty  to  stay  and  suffer 
the  torture  of  the  "  anxious  seat"  because 
it  was  a  torture ;  this  very  torture  I 
thought  to  be  a  proof  of  my  spiritual 
darkness. 


A   TROUBLED    HEART. 


39 


Was  it  not  my  duty  to  remain  there, 
and  try  to  be  glad  that  I  was  miserable, 
and  miserably  paying  the  penalty  of  sin? 
— was  it  not  my  duty  to  mortify  myself 
daily,  to  pass  my  nights  in  tears  and 
terror,  until  I  had  at  last  experienced 
that  incomprehensible  corporeal  phenom- 
enon, "a  change  of  heart"?  Would  it 
not  be  doubly  sinful  in  me  to  fly  from  a 
place  which  had  become  painful  to  me  in 
consequence  of  my  imperfections,  and  seek 
peace  and  happiness  in  the  new  home 
to  which  I  had  been  so  cordially  bidden  ? 
I  believed  so,  and  for  this  reason,  and 
because  I  wanted  to  do  what  was  right 
and  for  my  best  good,  I  secreted  the 
welcome  letter  and  said  nothing  of  it  to 
any  one. 

Grandfather  F ,  who   knew  that  I 

had  received  a  letter,  and  whose  custom 
it  was  to  read  my  correspondence,  having 
waited  a  reasonable  time  for  me  to  show 
him  the  letter,  which  I  had  put  from  me 
as  a  temptation  and  a  snare,  finally  gravely 


40  A  TROUBLED    HEART. 

demanded  it,  and  I  saw  by  his  look  that 
he  thought  me  a  dissembler.  The  letter 
was  at  once  produced  and  read,  when,  to 
my  joy,  my  grandfather  embraced  me  and 
said,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye:  "Why  did 
you  keep  this  from  me?" 

"Because,"  I  replied,  "I  feared  you 
would  think  me  anxious  to  leave  you,  and 
to  get  away  from  the  '  Evangelist/  and 
so  I  was  going  to  say  nothing  about  it." 

"You  must  go  at    once,"   he  said,  "to 

visit   your  grandfather    S .      He  will 

think  me  selfish  for  having  kept  you  from 
him  so  long.  To-morrow  you  will  start 
for  his  home,  and  remain  so  long  as  you 
find  it  agreeable." 

I  could  hardly  believe  my  senses ;  I 
could  have  clapped  my  hands  for  joy,  and 
yet,  in  the  midst  of  my  anticipated  escape 
from  the  misery  of  the  past  fortnight 
I  felt  guilty  in  feeling  no  regret.  The 
next  day  set  me  free.  I  took  an  express 
train,  that  fortunately  stopped  for  a  mo- 
ment at  the  village  where  I  had  been  so 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  41 

sorely  perplexed,  and  the  afternoon  saw 
me  borne,  as  upon  the  wings  of  the  wind, 
many  miles  away. 

Oh,  the  relief  that  came  to  me  with 
every  added  moment !  oh,  the  clouds  that 
passed  from  before  my  half-blinded  eyes; 
the  millstones  that  fell  from  my  neck  ; 
the  shadow  that  was  lifted  from  off  my 
soul!  It  seemed  as  if  I  must  take  wing, 
also,  and  dash  through  space  in  the  delir- 
ious joy  of  my  deliverance.  And  then,  at 
intervals,  came  a  memory  of  those  whom 
I  had  left  in  the  horrible  atmosphere 
which  so  lately  engulfed  me ;  and  this 
memory  was  my  one  regret. 


42  A  TROUBLED    HEART. 


VII. 

My  grandfather  S was  an  Univer- 

salist ;   grandfather  F was  not  :   he 

was  a  Presbyterian,  or  a  Congregational- 
ism or  a  Baptist,  or  a  Methodist,  or  some- 
thing; but  which  of  them  all  I  have  never 
been  quite  sure.  I  could  not  help  telling 
my  new  grandfather  of  my  late  experience 
with  the  "Evangelist";  for  my  heart  was 
full  of  it,  and  sore  because  of  it.  I  talked 
on  and  on,  like  a  child  who  has  a  griev- 
ance, and  while  I  was  detailing  my  emo- 
tions— they  were  still  very  fresh  and  vivid 
— he  arose  and  paced  the  floor  excitedly. 
He  said  nothing  in  reply,  though  he  lis- 
tened attentively,  and  when  I  had  con- 
cluded he  suddenly  left  the  room  in  indig- 
nation. He  was  careful  never  to  drop  a 
hint  which  might  lead  me  to  think  I  had 
been  treated  unwisely ;   but  I  could  not 


A   TROUBLED   HEART.  43 

help  observing  that  my  two  grandfathers 
were  very  far  from  being  in  sympathy, 
at  least  as  far  as  their  respective  beliefs 
were  concerned. 

Sunday  was  not  called  the  "Sabbath" 
in  this  house  ;  I  was  now  allowed  to  go 
to  church  or  stop  away,  as  I  thought  best. 
I  was  taken  to  a  circus  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life,  and  I  thought  the  graceful  per- 
formers, in  their  airy  costumes,  but  little 
lower  than  the  angels.  My  Sunday  read- 
ing was  whatever  I  chose  to  make  it ;  I 
was  even  encouraged  to  indulge  in  a 
game  of  ball  or  marbles  on  Sunday  after- 
noon, and,  in  fair  weather,  was  driven 
about  the  country  to  my  complete  satis- 
faction. In  fact,  Sunday  was  almost  like 
a  holiday,  and  I  no  longer  looked  forward 
to  it  with  dread ;  for  I  was  as  free  as  a 
bird,  and  I  was  made  much  of  at  the  din- 
ner table,  where  the  jovial  Sunday  guests 
took  their  wine  like  old-school  gentlemen, 
and  on  several  occasions  even  toasted 
me    with    a    pretty    compliment,    which 


44  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

brought  the  blush  of  pride  to  my  cheek, 
and  a  glance  of  genial  patronage  from  the 
kind  eye  of  my  host. 

In  the  meetings,  the  Sunday  conferen- 
ces, which  my  grandfather  S attended 

when  he  felt  so  inclined,  there  was  a 
light,  bustling  afr,  very  similar  to  that  which 
pervaded  the  Seminary  hall  on  Friday 
afternoon  during  the  declamation  hour. 
I  could  not  help  comparing  it  with  the 
unwholesome  atmosphere  which  prevailed 
in  the  "revival  meetings  "  of  the  "  Evan- 
gelist." I  had  no  longer  a  thought  of 
fear;  nor  of  love  either;  nor  of  reverence  ; 
nor  of  anything  in  particular.  In  that 
community  there  seemed  to  be  a  general 
understanding  that  all  men  are  to  be 
saved,  whether  they  will  or  no ;  that  it  is 
a  waste  of  time  trying  to  be  wicked ;  it  is, 
moreover,  ill-bred  and  disagreeable,  and 
one  must  submit  to  salvation  in  the  end, 
notwithstanding.  In  short,  with  them 
man's  chief  end  was  to  be  sociable  and 
satisfied. 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  45 

Prayers  were  never  heard  in  the  house 
where  I  was  then  made  welcome;  nor 
grace  at  table  ;  nor  was  there  anything 
in  the  outward  or  inner  life  of  the  several 
members  of  the  household  that  suggested 
the  possibility  of  a  final  judgment.  When 
I  went  to  my  room  at  night  —  which,  by 
the  by,  I  shared  with  a  distant  connection, 
who  was  a  sojourner  there — a  lad  some- 
what my  senior, —  I  astonished  my  room- 
mate by  kneeling  at  the  bedside  and 
silently  repeating  the  prayer  my  mother 
had  taught  me. 

It  was  a  simple  prayer,  and  a  brief  one  ; 
and,  though  I  could  never  be  persuaded 
to  omit  it,  somehow —  I  wonder  how  and 
why!  —  it  always  filled  me  with  the  deep- 
est sadness.  Was  it  because  it  was 
addressed  aimlessly  to  the  Deity,  who 
was  still,  in  my  mind — the  unintelligible 
Something  beyond  the  stars  ?  Was  it 
because  I  had  never  known  a  direct  an- 
swer to  prayer?  because  1  was  beginning 
to  distrust  its  efficacy?    Or  did  the  melan- 


46  A  TROUBLED    HEART. 

choly  associations  of  the  past  cluster 
about  it,  and  bring  pain  instead  of  easing 
it,  and  sorrow  rather  than  relief? 

I  was  daily  gaining  in  health  and 
spirits,  and  began  to  outgrow  the  morbid 
tendencies  of  my  earlier  years ;  yet  often 
and  often  I  perplexed  myself  with  the 
vaguest  speculations  as  to  the  cause 
of  the  wide  difference  between  the  lives 
of  my  two  loved  and  respected  ancestors. 


A   TROUBLED   HEART.  47 


VIII. 

From  this  sportive  bath —  if  I  may  so 
term  it  —  in  Universalism  I  returned  to 
school.  I  was  purged  of  much  of  the 
melancholy  with  which  the  "  Evangelist  " 
had  imbued  me.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
since  there  were  so  many  dissimilar 
creeds,  and  when  even  my  own  people 
differed  widely  in  their  faith,  it  mattered 
little  what  I  believed  myself,  or,  indeed, 
if  I  believed  anything  at  all  for  the  pres- 
ent. School-boy  friendships  comforted 
my  heart ;  school  holidays  kept  alive  my 
interest  in  life.  I  was  almost  weaned  from 
home,  perhaps  because  I  tried  not  to  think 
of  it  any  longer.  When  I  thought  of  home 
I  found  it  was  still  a  sore  spot  that  was 
touched,  and  so  I  gave  myself  up  to  the 
pleasures  of  the  hour,  and   was  all   this 


48  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

time  growing  as  a  boy  grows  —  right  up 
like  a  weed,  slender  and  frail. 

When  I  had  fully  made  up  my  mind 
that  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to 
patiently  await  a  summons  to  return,  and 
had  actually  begun  to  care  very  little 
whether  it  came  now  or  by  and  by,  in  the 
dim  future,  I  was  most  unexpectedly 
called  back  to  my  far-away  home  beyond 
the  sea.  There  was  no  especial  occasion 
for  this  change  at  that  time ;  I  was  com- 
paratively  contented,  and  might  have 
continued  so  for  a  year  or  two  longer. 
But  a  letter  came,  bidding  me  pack  up 
and  set  sail  at  once ;  and  this  I  did  almost 
immediately. 

We  were  close  upon  the  end  of  the 
school  term ;  were  all  looking  forward  to 
the  final  exercises  with  the  utmost  enthu- 
siasm. As  for  me,  I  was  expecting  to 
distinguish  myself  at  the  dosing  exhibi- 
tion;  and  the  frequent  rehearsal  of  a  little 
drama  in  which  my  schoolmates  and  I 
were  to  appear   had    kept   us    for   some 


A   TROUBLED   HEART.  49 

time  in  a  state  of  delicious  excitement. 
Alas !  I  knew  not  that  I  was  to  be  taken 
from  school  before  the  eventful  day,  and 
that  .my  part  in  the  drama — how  I  had 
dreamed  of  it  night  after  night!  —  was  to 
be  allotted  to  another.  I  was  not  even  to 
have  the  satisfaction  of  being  a  spectator 
on  the  brilliant  night,  the  proudest  hour 
in  the  long  school  year.  It  was  necessary 
for  me  to  leave  school  suddenly,  in  order 
to  secure  passage  by  a  ship  in  which 
family  friends,  in  whose  charge  I  was 
placed,  were  to  embark. 

My  schoolmates,  who  had  shown  me  a 
thousand  kindnesses,  no  sooner  learned 
of  my  intended  departure  than  they,  with 
the  aid  of  my  teachers,  arranged  a  little 
farewell  fete  for  my  especial  delectation. 
This  was  flattering  indeed,  and  I  endeav- 
ored to  console  myself  as  best  I  might, 
when,  on  a  day  sooner  than  was  anticipa- 
ted,   my    grandfather     F made    his 

appearance,  to  take  me  home  with    him 
at  once.    He  could  not  remain  over  for  my 
4 


50  A   TROUBLED   HEART. 

sake;  he  couid  not  conveniently  return 
for  me  later;  and,  moreover,  he  had  come 
at  that  very  time  for  an  especial  purpose, 
and  I  was  to  accompany  him  without 
delay.  I  drove  away  with  him  in  hot 
haste,  with  scarcely  time  to  say  farewell 
even  to  my  bosom  friends;  and  though  I 
was  silent,  I  was  well  nigh  heartbroken. 
Even  the  thought  of  setting  forth  so  soon 
for  the  home'  I  had  vainly  longed  for 
could  not  compensate  me  in  my  double 
disappointment;  I  was  in  despair;  and 
when  I  learned  the  cause  of  the  good 
man's  precipitous  visit  I  fear  I  did  him 
wrong,  for  my  spirit  was  bitter  and  unfor- 
giving. 

With  the  earnest  desire  for  my  spirit- 
ual welfare  which  he  invariably  evidenced, 
he  had  found,  as  he  believed,  a  favorable 
opportunity  for  impressing  upon  my  mind 
the  solemn  fact  that  death  is  always  with 
us,  and  that  it  is  our  first  duty  to  be  pre- 
pared for  it.  It  seemed  that  a  lad  of  about 
my  own  age,  but  one  of  whom  I  had  never 


A    TROUBLED    HEART.  5  I 

known  anything,  had  died  suddenly:  it 
was  to  be  present  at  his  obsequies,  to 
take  warning  from  the  awful  suddenness 
of  his  death,  to  listen  to  the  lugubrious 
wail  of  funeral  hymns,  to  witness  the 
agonizing  grief  of  the  bereaved,  that  I 
was  brought  away  from  the  last  embraces 
of  my  loving  mates. 

Never  shall  I  forget  that  scene.  The 
gloss  of  the  rosewood  coffin ;  the  sickly 
pallor  of  the  memorial  wreaths  —  their 
odor  is  still  perceptible,  and  is  forever 
associated  with  death;  the  brooding 
thoughts  of  death  —  of  death  not  only  of 
the  body,  but,  as  it  seemed  to  me  then, 
the  possible  death  of  the  soul  —  of  hope, 
of  everything.  The  whining  voice  of  the 
minister  was  at  intervals  drowned  in  the 
audible  sobs  of  those  who  were  gathered 
about  that  lifeless  clay.  What  a  hollow 
mockery  it  all  seemed  to  me ! 

"  I  would  not  live  alway, 
I  ask  not  to  stay —  " 

sang  the  choir;  but  that  marble  image  of 


52  A    TROUBLED    HEART. 

youth,  beauty,  aspiration,  and  radiant  love 
turned  a  deaf  ear  against  the  cruel  sar- 
casm, and  sealed  its  dimmed  eye,  as  if  In 
scorn  of  the  singers  of  such  foolish  plati- 
tudes. Why  should  he  not  have  lived 
always,  thought  I,  or  at  least  until  he  had 
learned  to  despise  a  world  that  had  become 
hollow  and  hateful  to  him?  What  did 
that  man,  who  stood  droning  at  the  head 
of  the  coffin,  say  to  the  inconsolable? 
what  could  he  say  to  comfort  those  who 
were  about  to  hide  away  forever  that 
marvellous  effigy  of  sleep?  what  could 
he  or  any  one  of  them  have  said  to  me 
that  could  for  one  moment  sweep  away 
the  blackness  of  darkness  that  was  enfold- 
ing my  spirit  like  a  pall  ?  They  could 
say  that  he  had  been  saved  from  a  wicked 
world,  whose  wickedness  he  could  not  yet 
have  known ;  that  he  had  been  snatched 
away  from  a  life  in  which  he  must  have 
innocently  revelled;  for  the  bloom  of 
unsullied  youth,  the  joy  of  love,  and  the 
power  of  beauty  were  his.      They  could 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  -53 

say,  and  they  did  say  —  at  least  the 
preacher  did — that  he  had  gone  to  his 
Maker.  How  did  they  know  that?  What 
manner  of  Maker  was  it  who  could  undo 
this  miracle  of  life,  who  would  rob  the 
world  of  its  loveliness,  and  leave  the 
unseemly  to  wither  slowly  in  their  dotage  ? 

O  miserable  that  I  was,  and  without 
help  !  I  heard  only  the  drawl  of  hopeless 
hymnody,  the  half  apologetic  interludes 
of  the  minister,  the  moan  of  those  who 
refused  to  be  comforted ;  I  saw  only  the 
sharp  outline  of  that  white  face;  while 
over  all  and  above  all  was  the  mingled 
odor  of  fresh  varnish  and  tube-roses. 
There  was  the  unceasing  wonder  in  my 
soul  why  it  was  not  I  that  was  taken 
instead  of  that  other  one  in  the  coffin 
yonder,  for  I  had  often  been  miserable 
enough  to  die. 

When  the  earth  had  crashed  brutally 
on  the  lid  of  the  box  in  the  grave,  I 
could  think  only  of  the  solitary  soul  that 
was,    perchance,    wandering    somewhere, 


54  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

groping  blindly  and  alone,  seeking  the 
presence  of  God.  I  could  think  only  of 
the  immeasurable  loneliness  it  would  find 
there,  for  the  vast  solitude  of  God  was 
to  me  unutterably  awful  and  overwhelm- 
ing. 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  55 


IX. 


Once  more  I  was  in  my  own  home  and 
with  my  own  people,  after  a  long  separa- 
tion. We  were  living  on  the  farther  shore 
of  a  new  land,  among  mixed  races,  in  a 
city  which  has  been  called  the  most 
cosmopolitan  in  the  United  States,  I 
was  growing  into  the  speculative  age; 
had  begun  to  philosophize,  after  a  fashion, 
and  to  analyze  my  own  motives  and  those 
of  others  with  whom  I  was  brought  in 
contact. 

The  state  of  unbelief  in  which  so  many 
whom  I  have  known  have  complacently 
settled  themselves  has  always  seemed  to 
me  the  most  uncomfortable  of  all  spiritual 
conditions  ;  indeed,  it  is  a  condition  which 
is  totally  wanting  in  spirituality.  A  con- 
viction of  some  sort  was  absolutely 
necessary  to  my  happiness,  I  have  always 


56  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

felt  that  I  must  believe  something ;  but, 
to  tell  the  whole  truth,  it  did  not  then 
seem  to  me  to  matter  very  much  what  I 
believed.  I  began  a  search  after  truth, 
or  what  I  thought  to  be  truth,  and  my 
search,  at  least,  was  an  honest  one.  I 
knew  God  to  be  the  source  of  all  truth. 
I  desired  to  worship  Him;  and,  as  He 
was  worshipped  in  one  form  or  another 
in  the  many  and  various  churches  of  the 
city,  I  wandered  from  house  to  house  like 
a  weary  spirit,  seeking  that  absolute  rest 
which  I  had  never  known. 

My  intellectual  preferences  led  me  to 
favor  the  Unitarians,  who  find  a  series  of 
lectures,  composed  with  literary  elegance, 
and  delivered  with  considerable  oratorical 
grace,  all  that  is  necessary  to  the  worship 
of  God.  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  a 
celebrated  "  divine,"  who  professed  no  little 
interest  in  my  welfare.  At  his  church  the 
musical  adjuncts  were  highly  diverting, 
and  for  a  brief  while  I  was  beguiled  by  the 
eloquent  commonplaces  of  the  minister, 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  57 

who  seldom  failed  to  draw  an  exceedingly 
well-dressed  audience  so  long  as  the  fash- 
ionable season  lasted;  at  the  close  of  it 
the  church  doors  were  shut,  and  the  cele- 
brated "divine"  sought  recreation  at  the 
seaside,  in  company  with  the  majority  of 
his  parishioners.  I  looked  for  fervor; 
fervor  seemed  to  me  indispensable  to  the 
love  and  the  worship  of  God.  I  found  it 
not.  The  Unitarian,  a  superior  being, 
who  exchanges  compliments  with  his 
Creator,  and  whom  legions  of  angels  can- 
not abash  —  the  Unitarian  offered  me 
nothing  that  I  could  take  home  with  me, 
locked  up  in  my  heart  of  hearts, —  not 
even  a  grain  of  comfort. 

But  the  Methodist,  clutching  his  pon- 
derous copy  of  the  Scriptures,  swinging 
it  above  his  head  with  a  shriek,  while 
many  of  his  listeners  responded  with 
audible  "Amens";  and  then  hurling  the 
book  upon  the  pulpit,  in  which  he  roared 
like  a  caged  lion, — this  was  a  mockery 
that  sickened  me.   The  groans  of  auditors 


58  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

have  never  aroused  me  to  veneration,  nor 
does  frenzy  do  more  than  weaken  my 
faith  in  the  frenzied. 

Between  the  Unitarian  and  the  various 
degrees  of  Methodism  I  found  nothing  in 
the  whole  range  of  Protestantism  that 
did  not  seem  to  me  characterless,  color- 
less, almost  formless, —  the  poorest  con- 
ceivable substitute  for  worship  in  the  true 
sense  of  the  term.  What  was  the  gather- 
ing together  of  men,  women  and  children 
once  in  seven  days  to  listen  to  the  opinion 
of  a  man  on  this  text  or  that  text  of 
Scripture,  when  I  heard,  and  could  not 
avoid  hearing,  the  criticisms  upon  the 
discourse  just  delivered;  the  comments, 
favorable  and  unfavorable,  made  by  those 
who  considered  their  opinion  as  good  as 
any  man's?  Nor  could  I  help  observing 
the  worldly  spirit  which  was  everywhere 
and  in  a  thousand  ways  evidenced  with 
scarcely  an  attempt  at  disguise.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  some  form  of  worship 
was  necessary ;   that    there  could    be  no 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  59 

true  worship  without  form ;  that  the  mere 
herding  of  men,  women  and  children  under 
a  "pastor"  who  told  them  what  he  knew, 
or  thought  he  knew,  concerning  the  word 
of  God  and  its  relation  to  the  life  that 
now  is  and  that  which  is  to  come,  profit- 
able as  it  may  be  in  some  cases,  is  not 
worship  I  I  saw  no  evidence  of  the  pres- 
ence of  God  in  the  building  which  they 
called  the  u  house  of  God."  Every  sym- 
bol, every  suggestion  of  Him  and  of  His 
manifold  attributes,  was  rigidly  excluded 
from  the  place  dedicated  to  Him.  Even 
the  choir  harmony,  which  should  echo  the 
strains  of  the  heavenly  choir,  filling  and 
thrilling  us  with  the  most  exalted  rever- 
ence— the  choir  rendered  a  class  of  music 
which  was  calculated  to  dispel  every  senti- 
ment of  devotion,  and  to  rob  the  exercises 
of  the  single  element  of  beauty  left  them. 
Disheartened,  I  strayed  one  evening 
into  a  church  of  the  Episcopal  persuasion  ; 
here  I  found  much,  very  much,  that  was 
totally  wanting  elsewhere.    The  somewhat 


60  A    TROUBLED    HEART. 

meagre  and  meaningless  ceremonies  were 
conducted  with  an  assumption  of  dignified 
and  respectful  reverence  for  something 
— for  what  I  could  not  exactly  see.  I  felt 
that  the  way  was  opened  a  little  for  me. 
I  was  the  most  willing  and  the  most 
grateful  of  novices,  but  I  was  destined  to 
suffer  many  a  sad  rebuff  before  the  end 
of  my  novitiate.  In  vain  did  I  strive  to 
enter  into  the  spirit  of  that  faith;  to  me 
it  was  spiritless  and  cold ;  its  forms  were 
formal ;  and  though  the  prayers  are  of 
unrivalled  beauty,  and  the  litanies  —  of 
Catholic  origin — won  upon  me  like  the 
mystical  refrain  of  some  antique  temple 
worship;  though  the  music  was  spiritually 
elevating,  and  the  architecture  a  suitable 
setting  for  it  all,  I  felt  at  last  that  this 
was  a  form  indeed,  but  an  almost  mean- 
ingless form,  a  form  without  spirit  or 
substance.  So  I  turned  from  the  Epis- 
copal Church,  satisfied  that  it  is  feebly 
though  expensively  nourished  by  a  se- 
verely, not  to  say  frigidly,  polite  commu- 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  6 1 

nity, — a  community  meagre  in  numbers, 
but  of  unquestionable  taste. 

It  was  my  custom  to  revisit  in  turn  the 
houses  of  these  several  denominations, 
striving  always  to  reconcile  myself  to 
observances  at  which  I  instinctively  re- 
belled. I  was  constantly  laboring  under 
the  conviction  that  if  my  heart  was  not 
touched  it  was  because  of  the  hardness 
of  the  heart,  and  that  the  fault,  of  what- 
ever nature  it  might  be,  was  mine  alone. 

Once  and  once  only,  I  suffered  myself 
to  be  enticed  into  a  public  hall  where 
"  Moody  and  Sankey  "  were  holding  forth 
to  a  mob  of  ill-bred  and  irreverent  people. 
I  entered  that  hall  in  a  spirit  of  honest 
inquiry;  I  was  open  to  conviction,  and 
had,  for  the  time  at  least,  dismissed  all 
prejudice  from  my  mind.  It  was  the  hour 
of  noon.  These  meetings  were  held  in 
the  business  quarter  of  the  town,  for 
the  especial  benefit  of  business  men.  The 
public  in  general,  but  business  men  in 
particular,  were  invited  somewhat  osten- 


62  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

tatiously  (by  means  of  placards  in  large 
type,  distributed  upon  the  street-corners 
and  posted  upon  the  walls,)  to  repair  to 

Hall, street,  and  "find  Jesus" 

from  12  to  i  p.  m.,  daily!  The  intense 
vulgarity  of  the  proceedings,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  blasphemy  that  prevailed, 
tilled  me  with  disgust ;  the  horror  I 
experienced  when  subjected  to  the  bale- 
ful influences  of  the  illiterate  itinerant 
"Evangelist"  returned  in  such  force  that 
I  hastened  from  the  place  in  dismay. 
Nearly  every  Protestant  denomination  in 
the  city  was  represented  there.  Messrs. 
Moody  and  Sankey  created  an  excitement 
which  all  of  them  combined  would  fail  to 
do;  but  by  countenancing  Messrs.  Moody 
and  Sankey,  the  local  ministry  could  at 
the  close  of  the  season  step  in  and  divide 
the  spoils;  the  converts  were  parcelled 
out  among  them,  and  the  excitement 
subsided. 

Thus   the    Protestant    Church,    in    its 
innumerable  branches,  lent  its  aid  to  the 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  63 

Evangelists,  and  met  for  the  only  time  on 
neutral  ground ;  yet  it  is  but  a  few  steps 
from  the  temporary  insanity  of  Messrs. 
Moody  and  Sankey's  emotional  victims  to 
the  appalling  blasphemies  of  the  "  Salva- 
tion Army"!  I  resolved  never  again  to 
enter  a  Protestant  church  ;  never  again 
to  seek  to  reconcile  her  multifarious 
denominational  differences ;  never  again 
to  imperil  the  little  peace  of  mind  I  had 
by  profitless  speculation. 


64  A  TROUBLED   HEART. 


X. 


And  now  came  the  strangest  experience 
of  all.  One  day  I  received  a  letter  from 
a  lady  who  was  personally  unknown  to 
me,  though  I  knew  and  had  long  known 
her  by  reputation.  She  was  a  conspicuous 
character;  she  lectured  regularly,  on  Sun- 
days, in  one  of  the  theatres,  usually  upon 
a  popular  topic  and  in  a  popular  vein, 
and  succeeded  in  arresting  the  attention 
of  the  large  audiences  which  she  drew 
together  week  after  week. 

I  had  for  some  time  been  contributing 
to  various  magazines  and  journals,  and, 
doubtless  as  much  in  consequence  of  my 
youth  as  for  any  literary  merit  which  my 
juvenile  productions  betrayed,  I  had  won 
a  kind  of  romantic  local  reputation,  which 
I  have  since  wondered  was  not  my  ruin. 
Had  I  cared   more  for  what   the  public 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  65 

thought  of  me  than  for  what  I  longed  to 
think  of  myself,  I  should  hardly  have 
escaped  the  vainglory  that  dazzles  and 
confounds  so  many  precocious  amateurs. 

This  lady  begged  to  know  me;  entreat- 
ed me  to  call  upon  her,  and  promised  me 
the  sort  of  entertainment  which  she  must 
have  known  would  be  most  acceptable  to 
a  callow  poet.  I  was,  of  course,  much 
flattered,  and  very  willingly  visited  her. 
She  lived  in  a  suburban  cottage,  in  the 
midst  of  a  small  but  luxuriant  garden. 
Within  that  modest  home  I  found  repose; 
surrounded  by  every  element  of  feminine 
refinement,  we  seemed  far  removed  from 
the  weary  world,  and,  for  a  period,  our 
intercourse  was  very  grateful  to  me. 

Her  voice  was  low  and  sweet;  her 
manner  singularly  gentle  and  winning. 
It  was  said  of  her  by  the  enthusiasts 
who  noisily  proclaimed  her  virtues  that 
she  led  a  nun's  life,  and  that  her  days 
were  passed  in  meditation  and  in  acts  of 
silent  charity.  She  certainly  seemed  to 
5 


66  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

me  one  of  the  most  exalted  natures  with 
which  I  had  ever  been  brought  in  contact. 
The  praise  she  gave  me  was  enthusiastic 
but  discriminating;  the  sympathy  she 
showed  me  won  the  confidence  and  grati- 
tude of  my  heart.  She  exacted,  without 
so  much  as  asking  it,  an  unconditional 
surrender.  She  was  what  is  popularly 
known  as  an  "  inspirational  speaker";  her 
lectures  were  seldom  prepared  beforehand, 
and  never  written  or  memorized ;  on  the 
impulse  of  the  moment  she  spoke  with 
amazing  volubility  and  brilliancy.  She 
was  an  earnest,  constant,  and  appreciative 
reader  ;  hers  was  a  poetic  temperament, 
and  she  was  easily  moved  to  tears;  her 
natural  gaiety  was  tempered  by  a  memory 
of  the  sorrow  and  disappointments  with 
which  her  life  had  been  filled;  and,  withal, 
she  was  possessed  of  a  profound,  intuitive 
knowledge  of  human  nature.  Is  it  any 
wonder  that  I  flew  to  her  in  my  despond- 
ing moods,  or  that  she  found  in  me  an 
interesting  and  interested  votary  ? 


A    TROUBLED    HEART.  67 

It  was  her  custom  to  entertain  me  with 
discourses  upon  the  supernatural.  Often, 
with  closed  eyes,  or  a  look  fixed  on  va- 
cancy, she  would  pour  forth  volumes  of 
eloquent  mysticism,  to  which  I  listened  in 
rapt  wonderment.  In  her  presence  I 
began  to  feel  the  influence  of  which  she 
so  often  spok'\  It  seemed  to  me  that  the 
little  parlor  in  which  we  sat,  in  a  kind  of 
artificial  twilight  that  was  quite  its  own, 
was  the  most  serenely  beautiful  of  retreats. 
I  almost  believed  that  the  good  spirits  she 
professed  to  see,  and  with  whom  she 
apparently  held  converse,  were  really 
near  me;  that  they  were  in  many  ways 
ministering  to  me  ;  that  I  was  no  longer 
alone  in  my  earthly  pilgrimage,  for  those 
invisible  embassadors — her  vassals  — 
were  in  my  confidence,  and  were  no  more 
to  leave  me,  night  or  day. 

Often  she  gave  me  messages  that 
thrilled  me  with  hope  and  joy;  always 
they  were  such  as  I  longed  to  hear 
repeated,  and  in  no  case  did  they  fail  to 


68  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

assure  me,  in  one  form  or  another,  of  the 
necessity  of  my  seeking  them  and  trusting 
them  and  their  interpreter  —  the  mysteri- 
ous lady  through  whose  lips  they  spoke, 
and  in  whose  mediumship  they  found  the 
fullest  expression.  By  her  I  was  slowly 
led  through  all  the  phases  of  that  danger- 
ous doctrine  known  as  "  Spiritualism,"  in 
which  so  many  noble  natures  have 
become  hopelessly  involved.  With  her  I 
underwent  the  ordeal  of  the  test  of  faith  ; 
the  whole  range  of  supernatural  phe- 
nomena was  thrown  open  to  me;  my  ears 
heard,  my  eyes  saw,  my  fingers  touched 
the  objects  which  were  unaccountably 
produced  for  my  delectation,  and  which 
speedily  and  unaccountably  vanished 
from  my  sight.  I  was  in  ecstasy;  I  was 
ready  —  nay,  eager  to  accept  all  things, 
believe  all  things,  hope  all  things  of  the 
future,  in  which  I  was  assured  the  new 
faith  would  be  the  salvation  of  the  world. 
It  was  not  until  the  grossest  deceptions 
had  been  practised  upon  me  that  my  faith 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  69 

began  to  question;  I  believed  blindly, 
because  it  was  an  easy  and  comforting 
belief;  but  having  lost  faith  in  one  phase 
of  this  deluding  mystery,  my  faith  was 
shaken  in  it  all,  and  I  believed  no  more. 
Like  a  house  built  upon  sand,  one  wave 
swept  it  to  destruction  ;  and  then,  and 
not  till  then,  she  who  had  teen  my  guide, 
philosopher  and  friend ;  who  had  coun- 
selled me  in  my  perplexity,  comforted  me 
in  sorrow,  and  whom  I  thought  to  be  the 
pattern  of  all  the  virtues  —  she  proved  to 
be  a  priestess  among  the  modern  pagans, 
and  an  advocate  of  their  unholy  and 
lascivious  rites. 


JO  A   TROUBLED   HEART. 


XL 


Thrown  rudely  back  upon  myself, 
having  by  this  time  lost  confidence  in 
everybody  and  everything,  there  was 
still  in  my  heart  the  yearning  after  the 
unattainable.  I  dreamed  more  than  ever; 
indeed,  my  life  was  more  than  half  a 
dream.  I  wondered  why,  in  the  whole 
wide  world,  there  was  no  form  of  religion 
such  as  I  felt  the  absolute  need  of,  and 
without  which  I  was  as  one  cast  away 
in  the  desert.  Then  in  my  imagination  I 
erected  the  altar  before  which  I  longed 
to  prostrate  myself  in  tenderest  devotion. 
It  was  my  intention  to  secretly  set  up 
a  tabernacle  in  my  chamber  —  a  place  of 
sacrifice,  to  which  I  might  enter  alone 
and  unobserved,  and  there  offer  the 
prayer  which  was  ever  in  my  heart  and 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  71 

often  upon  my  lips.  Adjoining  my  cham- 
ber was  a  closet,  lighted  by  a  rose- 
window;  this  would  admirably  answer 
my  purpose;  the  glass  of  the  window 
could  be  stained  so  that  a  beautiful  and 
unearthly  glow  would  suffuse  the  place; 
the  walls,  hung  with  rich  draperies,  were 
to  enclose  me  as  with  curtains  of  cloud; 
the  ceiling  would  be  of  azure,  starred  with 
golden  stars;  the  floor  cushioned  deep 
with  velvet  rugs,  on  which  to  kneel  in  the 
hour  of  my  retreat.  There  was  to  be  an 
altar  white  as  the  new-fallen  snow, —  an 
altar  decorated  with  the  emblems  of  death 
and  immortality;  an  altar  gilded  and 
draped  with  lace,  and  having  tapers  upon 
it,  which  were  to  be  lighted  whenever  I 
entered  that  sanctuary.  I  wanted  these 
tapers  to  be  many,  and  I  wished  that  they 
might  burn  forever;  for  they  were  to 
stand  before  a  shrine  with  golden  doors, 
which  doors  were  to  be  kept  closed,  save 
only  when  I  could  open  them  in  a  spirit 
of  unspeakable  reverence. 


72  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

I  could  never,  even  in  imagination, 
furnish  that  shrine  with  sufficient  splen- 
dor. I  wanted  the  loveliest  light  to 
radiate  from  the  holy  of  holies  when  I 
bowed  before  it  with  a  broken  and  a 
contrite  heart;  for  therein  was  to  be 
enshrined  the  image  of  the  Son  of  God, 
while  all  about  were  choirs  of  chanting 
Cherubim  and  Seraphim,  and  in  the 
midst  thereof  the  Holy  Spirit  hovering 
in  the  form  of  a  white  dove.  Fresh  flow- 
ers were  to  breathe  fragrance  in  the 
ceaseless  serenity  of  this  temple;  balsams 
and  frankincense  and  myrrh  were  to 
smoulder  there  in  brasiers  and  tripods. 
I  was  to  put  the  shoes  from  off  my  feet, 
and  to  bathe,  and  to  put  on  a  suitable 
garment  before  I  entered  this  to  me  most 
sacred,  as  it  was  the  most  secret  of 
chambers.  No  eye  save  mine  was  to 
behold  it;  no  ear  to  have  any  knowledge 
of  it  whatever ;  for  the  world  I  had 
trusted    had    betrayed    me,   and    I    now 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  73 

sought  only  to  be  alone  with  God  in  the 
temple  I  had  builded  for  His  sake.  Such 
was  my  dream, —  a  dream  never  to  be 
realized. 


74  A   TROUBLED   HEART. 


XII. 

The  love  of  music  was  with  me  a  pas- 
sion. Melody  soothed  me  in  excitement, 
and  aroused  me  from  periods  of  lethargy 
to  healthful  spiritual  and  mental  activity. 
My  music-master,  a' German  enthusiast, 
had  often  spoken  to  me  of  his  choir  and 
organ,  and  of  the  classical  masters  whose 
creations  it  was  his  delight  to  render. 

There  was  to  be,  on  some  high  festival 
in  the  church  of  which  he  was  musical 
director,  a  very  famous  composition  pro- 
duced, with  an  efficient  chorus  and  full 
orchestral  accompaniment ;  and  my  mas- 
ter urged  me  to  be  present  on  that 
occasion,  promising  me  a  seat  by  his  side 
near  the  organ.  I  met  him  at  the  door 
of  the  Cathedral;  it  was  with  difficulty 
that  we  made  our  way  to  the  organ-loft, 
so  dense  was  the  throng  that  had  long 


A   TROUBLED    H 


since  filled  the  pews,  galleries,  and  aisles, 
and  so  great  the  crowd  in  the  vestibule 
and  upon  the  steps  and  pavement  before 
the  Cathedral  doors.  From  my  position 
by  the  organist,  above  the  heads  of  the 
singers  and  instrumentalists,  I  looked  into 
the  mystic  nave,  and  saw  the  high  altar 
with  its  constellations  of  twinkling  tapers, 
and  the  soft  glow  of  the  lesser  lights 
upon  the  altars  in  the  transepts.  I  saw 
the  glorious  paintings,  the  exquisite 
statues,  and  the  admirable  architectural 
surroundings  ;  and,  though  I  could  not  but 
recur  with  some  slight  taint  of  suspicion 
to  my  early  experience  in  the  chapel 
opposite  the  old  homestead,  I  had  devel- 
oped sufficient  self-composure  to  carefully 
survey  all  and  heartily  admire  all  that  I 
saw  and  heard. 

At  last  I  beheld  a  congregation  that 
shared  a  single  sentiment ;  the  whole 
body  seemed  swayed  by  one  emotion,  yet 
each  member  of  that  vast  body  was 
individually  absorbed  in  a  private  devo- 


76  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

tion.  Where  else  had  I  seen  such  an 
impressive  spectacle?  where  else  such 
reverent  decorum?  where  else  could  I 
have  seen  it?  I  was  deeply  moved,  and 
when  my  master  touched  the  keys  of  his 
superb  instrument,  and  a  prelude  as 
delicate  and  as  full  of  inspiration  as  the 
song  of  the  soaring  lark  was  breathed 
among  the  stately  pipe  columns  that  tow- 
ered almost  like  a  forest  above  our  heads; 
when  the  long  procession  of  acolytes 
entered  and,  bowing  before  the  tabernacle, 
ranged  themselves  within  the  altar-rail- 
ing; when  the  deacons  and  the  priests 
followed,  preceding  the  bishop  in  his 
splendid  vestments ;  when  the  solemn 
ceremonials  were  in  progress,  and  the 
incense-clouded  air  trembled  with  the 
gush  of  melody  that  seemed  to  permeate 
the  very  stones  of  the  edifice  and  to  sway 
that  mass  of  humanity  as  the  tide  is 
swayed  slowly  to  and  fro  ;  when  every 
heart  seemed  to  respond  to  a  single  pulse 
—  a  pulse  throbbing  in  one  great  heart 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  J*/ 

that  was  burned  with  the  love  of  God, — 
when  I  began  to  realize  this  I  held  my 
breath  and  prayed  that  the  ecstasy  of 
that  hour  might  never  end.  It  was  a 
mighty  mystery  that  struck  me  dumb 
with  awe ! 

Of  the  inclinations,  salutations,  and 
genuflections  ;  of  the  vesting  and  unvest- 
ing,  the  cap  and  mitre,  the  cruets,  incense- 
boats  and  censers  ;  of  the  candles,  torches, 
missals;  the  ablutions  and  chiming  bells; 
of  the  deep  and  ominous  silence  that  fell 
upon  us  at  intervals;  the  elevations, 
the  thrice  solemn  administration  of  the 
Sacrament,  and  the  sublime  benediction, 
I  knew  nothing,  and  less  than  nothing; 
for  I  doubtless  misinterpreted  very  much 
of  all  that  I  saw  and  heard.  But  to  see 
and  to  hear  was  enough,  and  more  than 
enough :  my  hungering  and  thirsting  soul 
was  fed  with  spiritual  manna;  it  could  no 
longer  content  itself  with  husks! 

My  master,  who  had  been  absorbed  in 
his    professional    duties,    turned    to    me 


j8  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

when  he  at  last  lifted  his  hands  from  the 
organ.  The  great  building  was  nearly 
empty ;  a  few  worshippers  still  knelt  in 
the  body  of  the  church,  or  were  grouped 
before  the  several  altars ;  two  sanctuary 
boys  were  carefully  and  deliberately 
extinguishing  the  tapers  upon  the  altar; 
a  priest  was  kneeling  within  the  railing, 
and  everywhere  still  floated  the  faint, 
blue  filmy  clouds  that  sweetened  the  air, 
so  that  it  seemed  to  have  blown  softly 
from  the  gardens  of  paradise  !  —  and 
my  master  turned  to  me!  I  could  not 
speak;  I  felt  that  my  cheeks  were  color- 
less, and,  as  we  walked  away  from  the 
Cathedral  door,  and  were  parting  at  the 
street  corner,  he  said  to  me :  "  Well ! 
will  you  come  again  ?" 

Come  again !  My  ideal  temple,  my 
dream-sanctuary,  with  its  crude  and  feeble 
symbolism,  had  crumbled  into  ruins  and 
utterly  vanished  before  this  august  reality. 
This  was  reality  indeed;  but  it  was  a 
reality  of  whose  majesty  I  was  fully  con- 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  79 

scious,  though  as  yet  I  knew  absolutely 
nothing  of  its  marvellously  beautiful  sig- 
nificance. Would  I  come  again  ?  I 
nodded  my  head  in  token  of  assent;  yet 
at  that  moment  something  within  me 
seemed  to  struggle  against  it  and  to 
raise  a  question  of  doubt.  Is  there  any- 
thing in  the  wide  world  more  tenacious 
of  life   than  an  inherited  prejudice? 


8o  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 


XIII. 

I  did  go  again  and  again,  and  yet 
again.  A  seat  was  always  reserved  for 
me  in  the  organ-loft,  and  from  that  serene 
and  curtained  seclusion  I  witnessed  the 
Holy  Sacrifice  of  the  Mass,  until  I  began 
to  grow  familiar  with  its  forms,  at  least, 
and  to  long  earnestly  to  comprehend 
their  signification.  Our  maid,  at  home? 
was  a  Catholic,  but  she  had  never  in  any 
way  sought  to  influence  me  in  favor  of 
her  religion ;  nor  was  she  aware  that  I 
was  in  the  habit  of  attending  Mass  and 
Vespers  when  so  inclined. 

The  faith  of  my  people  was  dying  out, 
or  growing  lukewarm.  What  was  there 
to  call  them  to  a  church,  if  the  minister 
chanced  not  to  be  an  agreeable  speaker? 
They  were  liberal  Protestants,  growing 
more  and  more  liberal  from  year  to  year, 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  8 1 

and  they  followed  the  majority  in  the 
track  of  the  sensational  pulpit  orator  — 
the  favorite  of  the  hour.  Even  family 
prayers  had  become  infrequent,  and  we 
children,  grown  now  to  the  years  of 
discretion,  attended  them  or  not  as  we 
saw  fit.  Grace  at  table  was  often  omitted 
or  forgotten ;  and,  I  suppose,  the  natural, 
the  inevitable  tendency  of  Protestantism 
was  as  evident  in  my  home  as  in  any 
Protestant  home  of  to-day,  and  no  more 
evident  than  it  is  and  must  be  every- 
where. 

The  stubborn  prejudices  which  I  found 
it  difficult  to  eradicate,  and  which  they 
still  clung  to,  were  what  led  them  to  visit 
a  church  at  intervals;  and  in  most  cases 
they  did  so  in  a  critical  or  curious  mood, 
rather  than  in  a  spirit  of  reverence  or 
from  a  sense  of  duty.  They  knew  at  this 
time  that  it  was  my  custom  to  attend  the 
Catholic  church,  but  thought  that  I  went 
only  to  listen  to  the  choir;  and,  though 
they  sometimes  asked  me  if  I  would  like 

6 


82  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

to  hear  this  or  that  preacher,  in  whom 
they  were  for  the  time  being  interested, 
they  never  urged  me  to  accompany  them, 
and  made  no  objection  to  my  seeking 
salvation  in  any  way  that  I  saw  fit. 

I  was  groping  in  the  dark  when  a  little 
light  threw  a  ray  across  my  path,  sud- 
denly, unexpectedly,  as  if  a  star  had  fallen. 
One  day,  on  the  mantel-piece  in  our 
dining-room, —  shall  I  ever  forget  that 
mantel,  or  the  corner  of  it  on  which  the 
wee  book  in  its  brown  paper  cover  was 
lying! — I  found  a  copy  of  "The  Poor 
Man's  Catechism."  I  had  never  before 
seen  a  Catholic  catechism,  nor  any  Catho- 
lic book  whatever;  but  we  had  stores  of 
anti-Catholic  works,  and  the  discovery  of 
this  little  spy  in  the  camp  somewhat 
startled  me.  I  at  once  took  it  away  to 
my  chamber  and  began  to  read  it. 

I  was  on  my  guard  when  I  turned  the 
first  pages  of  that  homely  little  pamphlet ; 
it  was  a  poor  and  ragged  thing,  by  no 
means  calculated  to  prepossess  any  one 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  83 

in  its  favor.  I  was  even  inclined  to  be 
antagonistic  when  I  began  to  read ;  but 
the  simplicity,  and  truth  that  shone  from 
every  page  disarmed  me;  the  plain, 
direct  questions  and  the  plain,  direct 
answers  were  just  such  as  I  had  been 
longing  to  ask  and  to  receive.  Here 
they  were  in  my  own  hands,  to  be  asked 
as  often  as  I  chose,  and  answered  imme- 
diately and  always.  I  became  profoundly 
interested;  I  could  not  lay  down  the 
little  oracle  till  I  had  gone  through  it 
two  or  three  times  over.  I  read  it  first 
with  curious  interest;  and  then  re-read 
it,  to  make  sure  that  I  had  read  it  aright ; 
then  read  again,  to  clear  some  obscure 
point,  or  to  get  the  full  meaning  of  certain 
passages.  What  a  reading  was  that 
when,  finally,  I  read  it  slowly  and  earn- 
estly, asking  myself  after  each  separate 
answer,  "Can  you  believe  this?"  "Do 
you  believe  it?"  After  each  and  all  of 
those  answers  I  answered,  and  I  answered 
triumphantly,  rtI  can  and  I  do!" 


84  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

I  resolved  to  become  a  Catholic  at 
once;  I  supposed  that  I  had  only  to  say 
as  much  and  I  should  immediately  find 
the  doors  of  the  Mother  Church  thrown 
wide  open  and  the  stray  sheep  admitted 
into  the  fold  without  question.  This  is 
probably  the  impression  which  prevails 
among  non-Catholics.  I  have  heard  of 
those  who  have  been  made  Catholics 
almost  before  they  knew  it,  and  possibly 
without  their  full  consent;  as  if  one 
might  be  caught  and  branded,  and  then 
turned  loose  again,  the  property  of  a  new 
owner!  I  have  always  heard  this  from 
non-Catholics,  and  no  doubt  they  believed 
what  they  were  saying. 

The  question  with  me  was  to  whom 
was  I  to  offer  myself,  now  that  my  path 
was  made  straight?  In  the  wide  circle 
of  my  friends  and  acquaintances  there 
was  not  one  Catholic  that  I  knew  of, — 
my  music-master  professed  nothing.  Our 
maid  had  said  to  me,  "  Go  to  the  priest!" 
Good  soul,   she   little  knew  that   I    had 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  85 

never  spoken  to  one,  and  was  still  half 
afraid  of  them,  one  and  all.  Now,  for 
me  to  go  boldly  to  the  priest's  door  and 
knock,  asking-  to  be  admitted  and  adopt- 
ed, required  more  moral  courage  than  I 
was  possessed  of;  and  so  the  weeks  and 
months  passed  by,  I  going  regularly  to 
Mass,  and  timidly,  no  doubt  awkwardly, 
crossing  myself  with  holy  water;  for  I 
believed  it  was  not  wrong  for  me  to  do 
this  much,  even  if  I  were  not  yet  a 
Catholic. 

One  day  I  stole  cautiously  into  a 
Catholic  bookstore,  and,  after  a  great 
deal  of  hesitation  (for  I  was  divided 
between  desire  and  distrust),  I  selected 
and  purchased  a  fine  large  crucifix,  which 
I  secreted  under  my  coat  and  conveyed 
privately  to  my  chamber.  It  was  a  long 
time  before  any  member  of  my  family ' 
was  aware  that  I  had  that  precious  cruci- 
fix in  my  possession.  I  was  afraid  to  tell 
them ;  but  why  I  was  afraid  I  know  not ; 
perhaps  I  was  afraid  of  being  laughed  at, 


86  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

and  of  having  it  ridiculed.  Oh,  how 
happy  was  I  with  it,  when  the  whole 
truth  was  out  at  last !  I  was  laughed  at 
for  my  superstition,  but  I  smothered  my 
grief  and  anger;  I  held  my  peace  ;  I  hung 
the  blessed  symbol  of  our  Redemption 
upon  the  wall  above  my  bed,  and  prayed 
there  night  and  morning  as  I  had  never 
prayed  before. 

How  was  I  to  begin  to  be  a  Catholic? 
— that  was  the  question  that  I  asked 
myself  every  hour  in  the  day.  Often  I 
knelt  in  the  church  during  day  or  evening, 
hoping  some  one  would  discover  my 
anxiety  by  a  sign,  and  come  to  my  relief. 
Often  I  went  to  the  very  door  of  the 
priests'  house,  and  hung  about  there,  not 
daring  to  knock,  but  trusting  that  I  should 
ultimately  attract  the  attention  of  the 
priests,  and  be  met  at  least  half  way.  I 
was  always  talking  of  the  Church,  stupidly 
and  ignorantly,  no  doubt,  but  with  honest 
enthusiasm  ;  frequently  I  was  ridiculed 
for  my  pains ;  and  thus  the  time  passed, 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  8} 

and  I  was  no  nearer  the  longed-for  goal 
than  at  the  hour  when  I  first  opened  the 
little  brown  pamphlet  that  helped  me  take 
the  first  step  toward  Truth. 

That  Catechism  I  kept,  and  I  have  it 
still;  I  had  a  right  to  keep  it,  for  none  of 
us  was  ever  able  to  ascertain  when  or 
how  it  came  into  the  house.  "  No  owner 
was  ever  found  for  it,  and  no  one  knew 
who  placed  it  upon  the  mantel.  When  it 
came  into  my  possession  I  was  the  only 
one  who  had  seen  it  or  had  knowledge 
of  it. 


SS  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 


XIV. 

A  certain  lady  of  liberal  tendencies 
who  had  published  several  books,  and 
whose  house  was  the  resort  of  all  classes 
of  people,  had  made  much  of  me — yet  not 
enough  to  spoil  me.  The  favoritism 
which  she  did  not  hesitate  to  show  me  at 
all  times  and  in  all  places  had  given  me 
no  little  distinction  in  her  very  extensive 
and  by  no  means  exclusive  social  circle. 

Had  it  been  possible  for  me  to  content 
myself  with  mere  applause,  it  is  probable 
that  I  might  never  have  been  more  than 
an  enthusiastic  though  ingenuous  admirer 
of  the  external  beauty  of  the  Catholic 
Church;  but  the  craving  of  my  heart, 
that  drove  me,  yea  even  starved  me,  out 
of  Protestantism,  and  left  me  to  seek  relief 
in  many  and  various  quarters,  was  not  to 
be  satisfied  with  this  alone.     I  accepted 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  89 

gratefully  whatever  worldly  consolation — 
and  it  was  of  the  earth,  earthy — my  friend 
could  offer  me;  met  many  strange  and 
interesting  people  in  her  society,  and  was 
no  doubt  diverted  for  the  time ;  but  de- 
sire never  failed  me,  and  when  I  had  gone 
out  from  her  presence  I  was  immediately 
disinterested  and  disturbed. 

On  one  occasion  when,  in  wandering 
aimlessly  about  the  town,  I  found  myself 
in  the  vicinity  of  my  friend's  house,  I 
resolved  to  enter  and  pass  an  idle  hour 
with  her.  She  was  at  home,  was  receiving 
a  solitary  guest — a  lady  whom  I  had  never 
before  met.  I  was  of  course  presented, 
and  the  conversation,  which  my  entrance 
had  interrupted  for  a  moment,  was  re- 
sumed. I  forget  the  subject  of  that  con- 
versation ;  I  remember  nothing  of  all  that 
was  said,  save  that  some  careless  witti- 
cism of  the  hostess  concerning  what  she 
was  pleased  to  call  the  "saint-worship" 
of  the  Catholic  Church  aroused  my  ire.  I 
remember  that  I  said  to  her,  somewhat 


9° 


A   TROUBLED    HEART. 


hotly:  "  Have  you  no  reverence  for  that 
glorious  type  of  womanhood,  the  Blessed 
Virgin  ?"  I  believe  that  she  had,  and 
was  quick  to  acknowledge  it ;  but  imme- 
diately the  other  lady  who  was  present 
turned  to  me  and  asked  :  u  Are  you  a 
Catholic?  "  Without  hesitation,  though  I 
knew  nothing  of  her  or  of  her  faith,  I  re- 
plied, half  defiantly:  "No,  but  I  should 
like  to  be."  The*  hostess  laughed  gaily 
at  my  earnest  manner,  and  the  subject 
was  skilfully  dropped.  It  might  all  have 
ended  there  ;  but,  please  God,  it  was  not 
to  end;  it  was  rather  a  beginning,  and  the 
best  beginning  I  had  yet  made. 

When  I  rose  to  take  my  leave,  the  lady 
rose  also,  and  together  we  passed  out  into 
the  street.  There  she  asked  me  if  I  would 
walk  her  way ;  and  thus  I  came  to  accom- 
pany her  to  her  house,  which  was  not  far 
distant.  Meanwhile  this  brief  dialogue 
was  all  that  passed  between  us : 

"  Do  you  really  desire  to  become  a 
Catholic?" 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  9 1 

"Of  all  things,  Madame,  it  is  this  I 
most  desire." 

"  Then,  why  do  you  not  place  yourself 
under  the  instruction  of  some  priest  ?  " 

"  Because  I  have  never  had  the  happi- 
ness of  knowing  one." 

"  I  can  very  easily  make  you  acquainted 
with  my  confessor,  who  is  to  visit  me  to- 
morrow afternoon  at  two  o'clock.  If  you 
would  like  to  meet  him,  come  here,  to  my 
house,  at  that  hour,  and  I  will  gladly  pre- 
sent you." 

At  last  I  felt  that  my  hand  was  upon 
the  latch  of  the  door,  at  which  I  had 
been  vainly  knocking  for  so  long  and  so 
weary  a  time. 


92  A   TROUBLED   HEART. 


XV. 

The  name  of  this  good  lady  I  have  for- 
gotten; indeed  I  saw  her  only  twice,  and 
I  never  knew  anything  of  her  history  or 
her  fate.  The  house  where  she  then 
lived  I  still  remember,  and  I  have  watched 
it  through  its  many  vicissitudes  with  a 
kind  of  personal  interest  such  as  I  have 
felt  for  few  houses.  It  has  been  tenanted 
by  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men;  was 
sometimes  tenantless,  with  a  placard 
hung  in  the  uncurtained  window;  and 
again  the  windows  would  be  thronged 
with  children's  faces,  and  the  halo  of  hap- 
piness was  over  it  all.  Finally,  it  has 
become  one  of  several  similar  buildings, 
swarming  with  rustics  and  day-laborers, 
who  find  in  this  little  colony  (known 
under  the  general  name  of  somebody's 
Temperance  Hotel)  extraordinarily  cheap 


A   TROUBLED   HEART.  93 

board  and  lodging  per  day,  week,  and 
month. 

When  I  went  to  the  house  at  the  ap- 
pointed hour,  I  was  shown  into  a  pretty 
parlor,  where  a  fine  engraving  of  Pope 
Pius  IX.,  of  blessed  memory,  filled  the 
place  of  honor  upon  the  walls,  and  all  the 
pictures  were  of  a  sacred  character.  The 
hostess  was  looking  anxiously  for  the 
arrival  of  the  priest;  she  began  to  fear 
that  he  might  not  come  at  all,  for  his 
duties  were  onerous  though  grateful,  and 
he  might  at  the  last  moment  have  been 
summoned  to  the  bedside  of  the  sick  or 
the  dying.  He  came  when  we  had  quite 
despaired  of  his  coming;  he  had  been 
called  away,  and  had  hastened  to  meet 
us,  if  only  for  a  moment,  inasmuch  as  the 
lady,  who  feared  that  something  might 
prevent  him,  had  sent  him  word  of  my 
desire  to  meet  and  confer  with  him  on  an 
important  question. 

He  was  a  modest,  almost  diffident 
young  priest,  not  very  long  in  orders,  and 


94  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

was  one  of  several  who  were  stationed  in 
one  of  the  most  populous  parishes  in  the 
city.  He  looked  weary  and  worn,  but 
was  cheerful,  and  had  even  a  subdued, 
boyish  gayety  that  charmed  me  and  soon 
put  to  flight  all  the  embarrassment  which 
I  otherwise  might  have  experienced ;  and 
he  easily  won  my  confidence.  I  felt  that 
we  were  to  be  fast  friends ;  and  yet  the 
clerical  cut  of  his  garb,  and  the  peculiar 
and  undefined  reserve — which  is  a  char- 
acteristic of  the  clergy  —  reminded  me 
always  that  I  was  for  the  first  time  in  my 
life  face  to  face  with  one  of  those  beings 
who  had  been  the  horror  of  my  infant 
years. 

What  did  he  say  to  me  ?  I  hardly 
know;  we  talked  of  everything  but  re- 
ligion. We  laughed  and  joked,  and  were 
shortly  as  cosy  as  possible;  and  then  he 
abruptly  took  his  leave,  for  he  had  still 
many  things  to  do.  The  atmosphere  of 
that  little  parlor  seemed  sweeter  and 
more  peaceful  for  his  presence ;  and  even 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  95 

in  his  absence  something  of  that  sweet- 
ness and  serenity  remained. 

It  was  agreed  that  I  was  to  visit  him 
on  the  evening  following.  I  was  to  await 
him  in  the  chapel  of  his  parish  as  he  came 
from  the  confessional;  and  I  impatiently 
looked  forward  to  that  hour,  for  the  young 
priest  had  no  sooner  left  me  than  I  wished 
him  back  again.  He  was,  in  truth,  per- 
fectly new  to  me,  and  unlike  any  one 
whom  I  had  ever  known.  On  the  mor- 
row, then,  in  the  chapel,  I  was  to  await 
him  at  the  confessional.  How  the  knowl- 
edge of  this  would  have  chilled  the  mar- 
row in  the  bones  of  my  respective  grand- 
sires!  Neither  of  them  ever  knew  it,  for 
both  of  them  died  soon  after. 


96  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 


XVI. 

Dear  little,  dingy  chapel !  how  dark  you 
were  that  night !  and  how  dark  the  street, 
with  the  wind  and  the  rain  driving  against 
my  face,  as  I  went  in  search  of  you  ! 

That  night  I  chanced  to  run  across  a 
friend,  who  turned  to  walk  with  me.  Him 
I  had  to  get  rid  of  in  some  way, but  how? 
I  told  him  I  had  an  engagement,  and  his 
fraternal  curiosity  (for  we  were  intimates) 
was  at  once  aroused.  To  satisfy  him,  I 
resorted  to  invention.  (How  delicately  I 
am  putting  it  now;  for,  to  be  plain  with 
you,  it  was  a  falsehood  I  told  him !)  Was 
it  shame,  false  shame  that  persuaded  me 
to  keep  my  interview  a  secret,  and  encour- 
aged me  in  deliberately  misleading  him? 
Ought  I  not  to  have  gloried  in  the  step  I 
was  about  to  take,  though  I  took  it  almost 
blindly,  and  alone,  and  in  the  darkest  of 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  97 

dark  nights  ?  My  friend  left  me  in  per- 
plexity, for  I  fear  there  was  guilt  in  my 
voice;  but  he  did  not  leave  me  till  I  had 
led  him  past  the  door  of  the  chapel  and 
quite  out  of  my  way  ;  then  I  made  the 
circuit  of  the  square,  and  coming  again 
to  the  chapel  door,  which  stood  invitingly 
open,  I  looked  up  and  down  the  street, 
which  was  deserted  at  the  moment,  and 
then  quietly  stole  within. 

Dear  little,  dingy  chapel,  that  has  given 
place — though  not  without  rivers  of  tears 
from  the  hearts  that  knew  and  loved  you 
— to  the  stately  edifice,  with  its  chimes  of 
joy-bells  far  aloft  in  the  great,  high  tower ! 

A  single  lamp  burned  like  a  golden 
star  before  the  altar  and  the  Blessed  Sac- 
rament;  two  or  three  glimmering  lights 
threw  a  feeble  ray  in  the  far  corners  of  the 
chapel,  where  groups  of  penitents  were 
crouching  near  the  confessionals.  What 
an  unearthly  stillness  was  there  !  I  looked 
with  awe  upon  those  who  were  humbling 
themselves  before  him  unto  whom  is  given 
7 


98  A   TROUBLED   HEART. 

the  power  to  loose  and  to  bind  sin.  I  lis- 
tened, with  beating  heart,  to  the  low  mut- 
ter of  lips  within  the  curtained  niches;  the 
noiseless  stir  of  the  screen  that  hid  the 
confessor  from  view  thrilled  me.  When 
would  my  turn  come  to  enter  that  dim  re- 
treat and  pour  out  my  iniquities  at  the 
feet  of  those  servants  of  God?  When 
mieht  I  arise  from  there  with  a  clean 
heart  and  a  spirit  whiter  than  snow  ?  I 
knelt  in  the  chapel,  lost  in  a  vague  revery, 
wondering  if  I  had  yet  a  right  to  kneel 
there;  wondering  how  they  feel  who  go 
in  and  come  out  from  under  the  drapery 
of  the  confessional;  wondering  if  the 
quenchless  star  whose  pale  beam  falls  for- 
ever upon  the  golden  doors  of  the  taber- 
nacle might  not  dart  one  ray  into  the  dim 
chamber  of  my  heart  and  illumine  it  for- 
ever. 

A  hand  touched  me  lightly  upon  the 
shoulder.  I  turned:  it  was  the  young 
priest,  now  clad  in  the  long,  dark  robe 
which  was  the  horror  of   my  childhood ; 


A   TROUBLED   HEART.  99 

but  I  had  overcome  all  fear,  and  full  of 
trust  I  rose  and  followed  him.  As  we 
passed  before  the  Blessed  Sacrament  the 
young  priest  prostrated  himself  for  a  mo- 
ment ;  the  impulse  to  follow  his  example 
was  irresistible.  We  arose  together,  and 
entered  a  door  that  admitted  us  to  a 
passage  connecting  the  chapel  with  the 
priests'  house. 

I  was  taken  into  a  small  study  walled 
with  books,  and  was  there,  in  the  kindest 
spirit,  carefully  and  freely  questioned. 
Never  before  had  I  realized  how  little  I 
knew  of  the  great  scheme  of  salvation.  I 
was  to  begin  at  the  beginning,  for  I  had 
everything  to  learn ;  and  yet  it  is  prob- 
able that  I  knew  as  much  of  Catholicism 
as  any  Protestant,  and  possibly  I  knew 
far  more  than  most  of  them. 

We  looked  over  many  volumes  in  that 
library;  the  history,  the  philosophy,  the 
poetry  of  the  Church  was  gradually  laid 
open  to  me,  I  felt  as  if  I  were  entering 
a  new  world — a  world  full  of  mysterious 


I GO  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

beauty  and  fascination.  I  felt  that  I 
could  never  learn  enough  of  this  marvel- 
lous Church  —  never  begin  to  know  as 
much  of  it  as  I  should  know;  but  what 
perplexed  me  more  than  all  was  the  false 
knowledge  which  I  had  to  unlearn,  the 
cruel  misstatements  which  had  to  be  cor- 
rected, and  the  latent,  inborn  prejudices 
which  I  must  needs  root  out  and  trample 
underfoot. 

More  than  once  that  evening  we  were 
interrupted :  poor  men  and  poor  women 
came  to  lay  their  troubles  before  this 
youthful  Father.  What  a  world  of  care 
was  his  !  it  was  a  word  of  advice  or  en- 
couragement to  one;  a  little  substantial 
aid  to  another;  a  willing  promise  to  do 
this  or  that  for  a  third — enough,  it  seemed 
to  me,  to  tax  the  strength  of  the  stoutest, 
and  to  keep  a  dozen  busy  for  days  to 
come. 

This  was  his  daily  life;  rest  he  never 
knew;    weariness    he     discountenanced; 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  IOI 

famine  and  pestilence  he  feared  not ;  him- 
self the  servant  of  servants,  worthy  indeed 
of  his  hire,  was  unremunerated  in  a  pro- 
fession exacting  to  a  degree,  of  unceasing 
activity,  and  peculiarly  circumscribed  and 
exclusive. 

Above  us  was  a  small,  plainly  furnished 
chamber;  within  it  there  was  a  bed,  which 
was  neat  and  clean  and  hard ;  a  crucifix 
also,  and  a  few  pious  pictures;  a  holy- 
water  font,  and  an  uncushioned  prie-dieu. 
Thither  he  repaired  at  a  late  hour,  seek- 
ing the  brief  sleep  allotted  him.  He  did 
not  leave  me  that  night  till  I  had  reluct- 
antly withdrawn,  taking  with  me  several 
works  of  a  controversial  character,  which 
I  was  to  "  read,  mark,  learn,  and  inwardly 
digest";  and  then  exchange  them  for 
others,  which  were  at  my  disposal. 

Of  all  the  ministers  whom  I  had  met, 
where  had  I  found  one  worthy  to  be  com- 
pared with  this  modest  young  priest?  He 
immediately  won  my  esteem,  and   I    re- 


102  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

solved  to  visit  him  as  often  as  I  might 
without  intrusion.  Alas!  he  was  almost 
immediately  removed  to  some  distant 
country  parish,  and  him  I  never  saw 
again,  nor  heard  of  more. 


A  TROUBLED   HEART.  103 


XVII. 

The  young  priest  in  his  unexpected  de- 
parture had  not  been  unmindful  of  me:  I 
could  still  exchange  books  at  the  library 
in  the  priests'  house  whenever  I  chose  to, 
and  I  was  made  acquainted  with  a  Catho- 
lic lady,  who,  in  turn,  made  me  known  to 
the  Jesuit  Fathers  at  St.  Ignatius'  Col- 
lege. All  went  smoothly  now;  and  it 
was  with  a  sense  of  absolute  relief  that  I 
saw  myself  welcomed  by  the  wise  and  pow- 
erful yet  humble  Order  whose  very  name 
is  a  bugbear  in  the  ears  of  Protestants 
and  unbelievers.  One  of  the  Reverend 
Fathers,  a  grand  old  man,  was  to  take  full 
charge  of  me;  I  knew  always  where  to 
seek  him,  found  him  at  all  times  accessi- 
ble, and  between  us  there  sprang  up  an 
affectionate  familiarity  that  was  uninter- 
rupted until  his  death. 


104  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

Spirit  of  my  beloved  preceptor  —  the 
shadow  of  whose  sublime  countenance, 
still  hanging  upon  my  wall,  now  refreshes 
my  memory — O  desert  me  not!  but  from 
the  serenity  of  thy  sacred  sphere  lead  me 
and  direct  me  as  thou  wert  wont  to  when 
my  feet  stumbled  and  my  heart  was  faint. 

It  was  Father  A ,  of  the  Society  of 

Jesus,  who  made  my  perplexing  studies 
a  delight.  It  was  to  him  I  confided  the 
last  vestige  of  the  inborn  prejudice  which 
so  tenaciously  clung  to  me.  It  was  he 
who  said  to  me,  M  Read  what  you  will,  so 
long  as  you  read  earnestly  and  honestly 
the  books  I  give  you."  At  that  time  I 
read  many  anti-Catholic  works,  probably 
at  least  one  for  every  Catholic  book 
the  good  Father  gave  me.  More  than 
once  I  went  to  the  doors  of  Protestant 
churches,  intending  to  give  them  a  final 
trial ;  but  my  revulsion  was  so  great  that 
I  was  forced  to  turn  from  them,  feeling 
that  at  last  I  had  burst  the  bonds  of  their 
bigoted  and  ignorant  prejudice. 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  105 

I  believe  any  reasonable  man  cannot 
read  in  connection  a  Catholic  and  an  anti- 
Catholic  work  without  discovering  the 
logical  truth  of  the  one  and  the  false  premi- 
ses of  the  other.  Childish  and  stupid 
seem  to  me  the  arguments  of  the  Pro- 
testants ;  empty,  vulgar,  and  worthless  the 
tirades  of  infidels  and  fanatical  writers.  I 
would  not  recommend  any  Catholic  to 
read  aught  of  those ;  they  are  vanity  and 
vexation  of  spirit;  they  are  full  of  subtle 
poison,  that  robs  the  heart  of  rest,  of 
health,  of  hope — of  everything.  A  single 
page  of  plausible  falsehood  may  pervert 
an  unprejudiced  mind  so  that  a  whole 
volume  of  truth  will  hardly  restore  it; 
therefore  leave  them  alone. 

Protestants  may  fortify  themselves  with 
the  bulk  of  their  best  known  treatises, 
and  believe  themselves  secure;  but  let 
them  read  standard  Catholic  writers ; 
these  books  will  be  volumes  of  revelation 
to  them ;  let  them  carefully  compare  all, 
and  I  venture  to  assert,  if  the  readers  be 


J06  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

of  sound  judgment,  they  will  soon  lean 
joyfully  toward  the  Mother  Church,  and 
do  so  with  a  heart  full  of  pity  and  amaze- 
ment at  the  magnitude  of  the  Protestant 
and  infidel  misconception  of  the  truths  of 
that  venerable  Church. 

About  this  time  one  of  my  chosen 
friends — I  might  almost  say  my  bosom 
friend — was  a  popular  young  Protestant 
minister.  We  were  so  intimate  that  he 
could  not  but  see  the  drift  of  my  thoughts, 
and  it  was  no  doubt  with  horror  that  he 
noted  the  gradual  development  of  my 
love  and  reverence  for,  and  my  growing 
trust  in,  a  doctrine  which  was  in  his  eyes 
an  abomination.  I  had  been  very  fond 
of  him,  for  we  had  much  in  common  :  our 
tastes  in  music,  art  and  literature  were 
one,  and  we  were  usually  swayed  by  a  sin- 
gle emotion.  It  was  a  rare  and  beautiful 
friendship.  He  was  young,  enthusiastic, 
refined,  with  a  singularly  winning  manner ; 
yet  I  could  not  but  compare  his  worldly 
condition  with  that  of  the  youthful  priest 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  IO/ 

— the  first  I  met — and  of  my  venerable 
Jesuit  Father.  It  is  true,  the  latter  was 
one  of  an  Order  possessed  of  great  wealth 
and  vast  influence,  yet  the  private  apart- 
ment of  my  reverend  Father  was  a  bare 
cell ;  and  I  remember  that  beside  his 
Breviary  and  his  rosary  he  had  no  earthly 
possessions,  not  even  an  album  to  hold 
the  half-dozen  photographs  some  friends 
had  sent  him.  And  yet  he  had  been  of  a 
noble  family  in  Italy,  possessed  of  a  vast 
fortune,  which  he  poured  into  the  coffers 
of  the  Church-charities,  and  his  early  life 
had  been  passed  at  the  brilliant  court  of 
Naples  in  the  palmy  days  of  that  reign. 

But  no — I  had  forgotten ;  he  was  the 
possessor  of  an  ebony  snuff-box,  bearing  a 
medallion  of  the  Madonna  upon  the  cover ; 

0  Father  A !    Father   A !  may 

you  be  pardoned  this  solitary  extrava- 
gance by  the  revilers  of  your  holy  Order! 

1  know  beyond  question  that  your  purse 
was  always  light. 

My    ministerial    friend,    on    the    other 


108  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

hand,  being  a  handsome  bachelor,  and  "  a 
great  catch,"  occupied  a  suite  of  rooms  in 
the  house  of  one  of  the  most  fashionable 
members  of  his  congregation.  His  study 
was  a  boudoir,  filled  with  aesthetic  bric-a- 
brac ;  his  chamber  a  triumph  of  elegant 
upholstering.  He  had  numerous  albums, 
richly  bound,  and  filled  with  the  finest 
specimens  of  the  photographer's  art. 
Constantly  in  the  receipt  of  dinner  and 
social  invitations,  tokens  of  esteem,  bou- 
quets, and  all  manner  of  flattering  atten- 
tions, he — poor,  puzzled  boy — seemed  to 
pass  a  good  portion  of  his  time  in  laying 
up  embroidered  slippers  and  smoking- 
caps — the  handiwork  of  young  lady  ad- 
mirers—  against  the  rainy  day  of  his 
declining  popularity.  We  were  often 
together  at  one  time,  but  the  day  came 
when  he  felt  that  he  must  save  me  from 
taking  the  step  I  was  meditating,  and, 
after  a  long,  wordy  and  heated  argument, 
we  parted  in  coldness,  and  the  cold- 
ness,   very    naturally    grew      apace  —  it 


A    TROUBLED    HEART.  IO9 

grew,  till  I  ultimately  lost  sight  of  him 
entirely. 

Meanwhile  I  had  been  diligently  prose- 
cuting my  studies,  and  in  my  frequent  and 

lengthy    interviews    with    Father    A 

had  begun  to  see  my  way  clearly,  to  walk 
firmly  in  the  path  he  led  me,  and  to  cling 
steadfastly  to  the  one  hope  of  being  re- 
ceived into  the  Church.  I  felt  it  but 
reasonable  and  proper  that  I  should 
make  known  to  my  parents  the  sole  desire 
of  my  heart,  and  one  day  I -did  so.  We 
were  sitting  together,  after  dinner,  in 
the  cosy  library.  My  father,  who  had 
been  reading  aloud  to  us,  laid  down  his 
book,  and,  not  knowing  exactly  where  or 
how  to  begin,  I  out  with  the  whole  truth 
at  once.  I  said,  abruptly:  "I  have  re- 
solved to  join  the  Catholic  Church  "  ;  and 
there  I  paused.  For  some  time  we  were 
all  silent;  then  my  mother  spoke:  "  I 
trust  that  you  will  not  hastily  take  any 
step  that  you  may  hereafter  have  cause  to 
regret."     "I  am  not  taking  it  hastily,"  said 


HO  A  TROUBLED    HEART. 

I ;  "  I  have  been  thinking  of  it  for  a  very 
long  time,  and  I  am  satisfied  that  my  only 
happiness  rests  in  it."  Then  my  father 
added:  "You  are  old  enough  to  reason 
for  yourself  and  with  yourself,  but  I  would 
advise  you  to  consider  well  before  you 
have  gone  too  far." 

We  were  all  sadder  that  evening  than 
we  had  been  before,  and  there  were  tears 
in  my  mother's  eyes  when  I  kissed  her 
good-night ;  but  the  subject  was  never 
again  mentioned  among  us.     A  few  days 

later,  Father  A said  to  me:  "Whom 

will  you  choose  for  godfather?"  I  act- 
ually knew  no  one  to  turn  to  in  this  emer- 
gency, and  so  Father  A added  :    "  I 

can  bring  you  one  who  will  do  you  honor; 
you  will  be  baptized  in  the  baptistery  of 
the  Cathedral,  at  two  o'clock  on  Saturday 
next." 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  Ill 


XVIII. 

It  was  a  strange,  eventful  season  for 
me  of  which  I  now  write.  I  could  not 
close  my  eyes  on  the  night  preceding  my 
baptism,  and  when  Saturday  came  I  was 
nervous  and  depressed.  Of  course,  I  had 
never  been  baptized  (my  parents  did  not 
believe  in  infant  baptism) ;  and,  as  the 
palpable  "change  of  heart"  had  never 
caused  me  much  uneasiness  —  somehow 
my  heart  would  not  or  could  not  change 
— a  Protestant  baptism  had  never  seemed 
to  me  a  necessary  means  of  grace,  and 
I  had  lived  on  and  on  without  fear  of 
mortal  sin. 

A  little  before  two  o'clock  on  the  ap- 
pointed day  I  entered  the  Cathedral. 
Sunshine  was  flooding  the  nave  with  a 
rich,  mellow  light ;  some  one  was  noise- 
lessly wreathing  the  high  altar  with  fresh 


112  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

flowers.  Without  the  sombre  walls  was 
the  rumble  of  the  great  city  ;  within  was 
a  holy  and  unutterable  peace ;  but  my 
heart  beat  wildly  and  would  not  be 
quieted.  I  heard  footsteps  approaching 
as  I  knelt  before  the  Blessed  Sacrament; 

in  a  moment  Father  A was  kneeling 

by  my  side,  in  silent  prayer.  Presently 
he  turned  and  whispered  to  me,  and  we 
quietly  withdrew  to  the  baptistery.  My 
emotions  were  indescribable.  A  gentle- 
man   who   was    with  Father  A was 

made  known  to  me  ;  he  was  to  be  my  god- 
father. He  was  a  distinguished  convert, 
the  author  of  a  remarkably  able  and  logi- 
cal volume  entitled  "  The  Path  which  Led 
a  Protestant  Lawyer  into  the  Catholic 
Church." 

Under  the  beautifully  tinted  window  of 
the  baptistery  stood  the  white  marble 
font.  But  let  me  confess  at  once  that 
throughout  the  administration  of  that 
most  solemn  Sacrament  I  was  filled  with 
an  awe  that  dulled  rather  than  quickened 


A   TROUBLED   HEART  113 

my  senses.  No  one  was  present  save  us 
three  and  an  assistant.  I  was  carefully 
and  tenderly  directed  to  the  end,  and  then 
my  emotions  became  uncontrollable,  and 
throwing  myself  on  the  breast  of  my  god- 
father, who,  with  Father  A ,  affection- 
ately embraced  me,  I  shed  floods  of  tears. 
We  returned  to  the  altar,  and  there, 
kneeling  between  these  spiritual  and  tem- 
poral advisers,  I  laid  my  heart  in  absolute 
surrender.  From  the  steps  of  that  altar 
I  seemed  to  rise  a  new  being.  I  had 
shattered  the  chrysalis,  and  the  wings  of 
my  soul  expanded  in  the  everlasting  light 
that  radiates  from  the  Throne  of  Grace. 
They  left  me  there.  I  was  glad  to  be 
alone;  a  great  calm  had  fallen  upon  me, 
and  I  feared  lest  even  the  most  friendly 
of  voices  might  trouble  or  dispel  it. 
When  I  passed  into  the  street,  I  kept 
saying  to  myself:  "I  am  a  Catholic!  I 
am  a  Catholic  at  last!"  and  it  seemed  to 
me  then  as  if  my  eyes  were  just  opening 
upon  another  and  a  better  world. 

8 


114  A  TROUBLED   HEART. 


XIX. 

Did  any  one  ever  approach  the  myste- 
rious portal  of  the  confessional  for  the 
first  time  without  a  feeling  of  awe?  My 
turn  came  at  last.  It  was  on  a  night 
when  many  penitents  were  gathered  in 
the  dimly-lighted  chapel.  For  a  time  I 
held  aloof,  not  knowing  exactly  what  to 
do,  nor  how  to  do  it.  Of  course,  the 
formula  and  the  instructions  were  in  my 
prayer-book — I  had  long  since  purchased 
a  prayer-book, — but  I  felt  awkward  and 
half  afraid ;  and  so  I  knelt  apart  from  the 
others,  and  patiently  awaited  my  turn. 

People  came  and  went.  Probably  the 
majority  of  them  knew  what  priest  was  in 
each  confessional ;  but  I  knew  not,  nor  did 
it  matter  at  all  to  me.  What  worried  me 
now  was  how  to  get  safely  in  there,  how 
to  get    through    my    confession    with    as 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  115 

little  confusion  as  possible,  and  then  how 
to  get  safely  out  again.  I  saw  that  I 
must  kneel  in  the  train  of  those  who  were 
to  be  confessed,  one  after  the  other,  and 
follow  them  as  they  drew  nearer  and 
nearer  to  the  curtain  that  hung;  before 
the  little  closets  of  the  confessor ;  and  so, 
finally,  there  would  be  nothing  for  me  to 
do  but  to  enter  as  the  last  one  made  his 
exit.  I  did  this  with  my  heart  climbing 
up  into  my  very  throat  as  I  got  closer 
and  closer  to  the  closeted  priest.  I  was 
intent  upon  my  prayers,  and  upon  the 
formula  with  which  I  had  striven  to  make 
myself  familiar,  and  was  almost  uncon- 
sciously getting  on  and  on  toward  the 
hidden  one.  All  at  once  some  one  who 
was  next  before  me  arose  and  disap- 
peared ;  I  looked  after  him ;  he  had 
secreted  himself  behind  the  swaying  cur- 
tain. There  was  a  pause,  a  very  long 
pause  it  seemed  to  me,  and  then  I  heard 
a  rustling  and  a  clatter  as  of  a  sliding 
shutter.     A    penitent  emerged  from    the 


Il6  A   TROUBLED   HEART. 

farther  side  of  the  confessional,  and  his 
place  was  immediately  filled  by  another. 

By  this  time  I  heard  unintelligible 
whispering  near  me,  or  a  deep  sigh  now 
and  again,  and  soothing  sibilants  that 
flowed  continually,  until  the  invisible 
shutter  was  slid  back  again.  Almost 
immediately  my  side  of  the  confessional 
was  vacated.  I  arose  and  entered,  kneel- 
ing fearfully  in  that  small  chamber — no 
doubt  one  of  the  smallest  chambers  in  all 
the  world.  A  heavy,  green  curtain  shut 
in  the  darkness ;  I  saw  only  that  there 
was  a  crucifix  upon  one  hand,  and  a  little 
square  lattice,  with  a  gauze  screen  behind 
it,  directly  in  front  of  me;  and  that  this 
lattice  was  closed  by  a  solid  inner  shutter. 
I  heard  faintly  the  whisper  of  the  con- 
fessor, who  was  beyond  the  screen,  and  I 
waited,  now  full  of  contentment  and  quite 
at  ease. 

The  exquisite  sense  of  secrecy  and 
security — as  if  I  were  literally  out  of  the 
world,  and  far  beyond  its  reach — thrilled 


A   TROUBLED   HEART.  I  i  7 

me  with  a  strange  joy.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  there  I  could  wait  for  hours  without 
impatience;  but  I  heard  the  rustle  and 
the  clatter  again,  and  in  the  next  moment 
the  inner  shutter  was  slid  away,  and  I 
saw  the  profile  of  a  priest  (whom  I  had 
frequently  seen)  dimly  outlined  against 
the  faint  gray  light  that  shone  beyond 
him.  It  was  a  sudden  though  not  unex- 
pected climax,  and  I  was  thrown  off  my 
guard.  I  began  in  great  embarrassment 
the  confession  which  I  had  made  to 
myself  over  and  over  again,  and  in  less 
than  half  a  moment  found  myself  hope- 
lessly involved.  There  was  but  one 
thing  to  be  done  then,  and  I  did  it  with 
all  my  heart ;  I  threw  myself  upon  the 
mercy  of  my  confessor;  I  said  :  "Father, 
this  is  my  first  confession ;  please  help 
me  to  make  a  good  one."  From  that 
moment  I  felt  as  if  I  held  Gods  embassa- 
dor by  the  hand — and  how  I  clung  to 
him!  I  felt  as  if  he  had  thrown  his  pro- 
tecting arm   about  me;   as    if  he    would 


Il8  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

henceforth  aid  me,  and  encourage  me,  and 
sustain  me,  and  stand  between  me  and 
the  temptations  of  the  world.  I  then  had 
but  one  wish ;  it  was  that  I  might  search 
my  heart,  and  find  if  in  some  dark  corner 
of  it  there  were  not  still  the  shadow  of 
a  lurking  sin,  and  that  I  might  then  root 
it  out  and  bring  it  to  him  in  absolute  con- 
trition. I  wanted  him  not  to  dismiss  me 
yet,  but  to  reprove  me  again  as  gently 
and  as  gravely  as  at  first,  and  to  offer  me 
once  more  the  consolation  he  had  already 
so  freely  given.  Then  came  the  absolu- 
tion, like  a  fountain  of  healing  and  re- 
freshment, and  I  was  bidden  to  go  in 
peace. 

O  what  joy  entered  into  my  soul  when  I 
passed  from  that  confessional  and  pros- 
trated myself  before  the  altar  of  the 
Mother  of  God!  Rapt  in  the  profound 
spirit  of  love  and  trust  and  gratitude,  I 
felt  the  inexpressible  happiness  of  the 
child  who  knows  that  he  is  freely  and 
wholly  forgiven. 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  I  I  9 


Long  after  I  was  in  Rome.  There 
was  a  fete  at  the  American  College,  and  a 
priest  from  my  old  home,  with  whom  I 
had  passed  many  hours  among  the  shrines 
of  the  Holy  City  —  one  whose  singular 
privilege  it  was  to  decline  a  bishopric, — 
was  entertaining  some  of  the  notable 
foreign  prelates  who  were  present  with 
reminiscences  of  our  far  country.  Again 
and  again  he  had  appealed  to  me  to  bear 
him  witness  when  the  Monseiomeurs  ex- 
pressed  amazement  at  the  prolific  spawn 
of  American  infidelity. 

"He  knows,"  said  my  reverend  friend; 
"  for  he  is  a  convert,  and  has  been  familiar 
with  unbelievers." 

"Yes,  Father,"  cried  I;  "and  it  was  to 
you  that  I  made  my  first  confession." 

He  had  not  known  it  till  that  hour. 


120  A    TROUBLED   HEART. 


XX. 

The  supreme  moment  approached;  I 
was,  on  the  morrow,  to  make  at  early 
Mass    my    First    Communion.      No    one 

knew  of  this,  save  Father  A and  my 

godfather;  and  they  alone  knew  of  my 
private  baptism.  It  was  a  solemn  night 
for  me  which  preceded  this  crowning  joy. 
I  slept  little,  and  then  but  lightly ;  more 
than  once  in  my  feverish  dreams  I  ap- 
proached the  altar,  and  as  the  celebrant 
exposed  the  consecrated  Host  a  chime  of 
silver  bells  clashed  in  my  ears,  and  I  sud- 
denly awoke,  feeling  myself  unworthy  to 
receive  the  Body  of  our  Lord.  How 
thirsty  I  grew  with  a  double  thirst  — 
the  thirst  of  the  lips  and  the  thirst  of 
the  heart !  And  the  thirst  of  my  lips 
seemed  to  me  to  be  a  temptation  sent  by 


A  TROUBLED    HEART.  121 

the  evil  one  to  confound  me  in  my  last 
hour. 

In  the  gray  light  of  the  morning  I  stole 
noiselessly  out  of  the  house  and  hastened 
to  the  Cathedral.  The  great  sanctuary 
was  already  filled  with  the  multitude  of 
the  faithful,  who  were  humbling  them- 
selves in  the  presence  of  the  divine  One. 
I  felt  myself  the  humblest  and  the  least 
worthy  of  them  all,  as  I  made  again  and 
again  the  acts  of  faith,  contrition,  and 
divine  love.  I  hid  myself  away,  absorbed 
in  devotion,  and  a  priest  soon  entered  to 
begin  the  Mass.  With  what  reverence  I 
followed  it!  yet  thinking  always  upon  the 
moment  when  I  should  be  summoned  to 
the  altar  to  receive  from  those  hands  the 
Bread  of  Eternal  Life.  A  bell  tinkled; 
my  heart  leaped  within  me;  the  next  mo- 
ment I  was  filled  with  intense  emotion  ;  I 
saw  the  linen  spread  upon  the  altar  rail- 
ing, and  the  communicants  clustering 
there.     No  sooner  had  one  retired  than 


122  A   TROUBLED   HEART. 

another  filled  his  place;  and  presently  I 
found  myself — I  know  not  how — kneeling 
there,  and  the  priest  approaching,  with 
the  ciborium  borne  before  him. 

I  could  not  take  my  eyes  from  the 
sacred  Victim  ;  I  felt  the  tears  gathering ; 
I  heard  the  voice  of  him  who  was  about 
to  offer  me  the  divine  particle,  quivering 
as  he  said,  "  Corpus  Domini  nostri  Jesu 
Christi  custodiat  animam  tuarn  in  vitam 
(BternamT  A  delicious  perfume  seemed 
to  distil  upon  my  lips,  where  was  deposi- 
ted, with  inexpressible  tenderness,  the 
Blessed  Sacrament.  Invisible  choirs 
chanted,  "  Holy,  holy,  holy  !"  and  the  love 
which  casteth  out  all  fear  filled  me  to 
overflowing  with  unspeakable  peace. 

Alone  in  my  chamber  at  home,  all  that 
day  I  wondered  if  I  could  ever  again  stain 
my  lips  with  even  a  careless  word ;  won- 
dered how  this  mighty  privilege  can  be 
neglected  or  abused  by  those  whose  birth- 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  I  23 

right  it  is ;  wondered  what  there  could  be 
to  long  for,  or  to  live  for,  or  to  hope  for, 
beyond  the  pale  of  the  one  true  Church, 
into  whose  majestical  bosom  I  had  been 
received ! 


124  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 


XXI. 

Now  came  the  day  of  tribulation,  when 
I  was  tried  as  by  fire.  Upon  the  first 
favorable  occasion,  I  told  my  people,  one 
and  all,  that  I  had  been  baptized  a  Cath- 
olic. Though  they  were  certainly  not 
surprised,  and  were,  perhaps,  not  greatly 
grieved,  they  were,  doubtless,  somewhat 
disappointed  ;  and  from  that  day  to  this 
— now  many  years— not  one  of  them  has 
ever  attended  a  religious  service  with  me. 
Never  has  the  least  unkind  or  unchari- 
table word  been  uttered  in  my  presence; 
on  the  contrary,  they  have  shown  the 
sweetest  tolerance  at  all  times;  have 
served  fish  on  Fridays  without  fail,  and 
have  asked  me  to  notify  them  of  the 
approach  of  other  fast-days  or  days  of 
abstinence. 

Among    my  friends,   even    among    my 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  I  25 

intimate  friends,  and  especially  in  the 
case  of  two  or  three  frequent  guests  of  the 
house,  it  was  otherwise  The  fact  of  my 
conversion  was  soon  made  public;  a  per- 
sonal item  to  that  effect  went  the  rounds 
of  the  local  journals  and  ultimately  found 
its  way  into  the  Protestant  religious 
press.  Whatever  may  have  been  said  to 
my  parents  by  their  more  bigoted  co-re- 
ligionists I  know  not;  for  all  that  was 
likely  to  wound  my  feelings  was  kept  dis- 
creetly from  me;  but  I  saw  in  more  ways 
than  one  that  I  was  no  longer  held  in  the 
same  esteem  by  my  associates,  and  some 
of  them  took  pains  to  insult  or  ridicule 
me  whenever  they  found  opportunity. 
A  few  satisfied  themselves  with  merely 
passing  me  on  the  street  without  recog- 
nition, or  ignoring  my  presence  when  we 
met  in  society. 

On  one  occasion  a  company  of  my 
school-mates,  with  whom  I  had  previously 
been  on  the  best  of  terms,  locked  the  door 
of  the  room  in  which  we  were  assembled 


126  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

to  pass  a  social  evening,  and  there  they 
amused  themselves  for  an  hour  or  more 
by  ridiculing  the  ceremonials,  of  whose 
sacred  significance  they  were  ignorant, 
and  of  the  forms  themselves  they  knew 
nothing  beyond  the  glimpses  they  had 
caught  during  brief,  occasional  loungings 
at  a  chapel  door  during  service.  They 
burlesqued  the  Litany,  and  finally  de- 
scended to  blasphemous  pantomimic  imi- 
tations of  the  ceremonials  of  the  Mass.  I 
was  held  in  my  chair  by  two  powerful 
youths  during  this  disgraceful  orgy,  and 
not  suffered  to  depart  until  the  partici- 
pants had  grown  weary  of  their  own  sac- 
rilege. Let  me  add,  to  the  credit  of  these 
young  men,  that  nearly  all  of  them  after- 
ward made  me  an  apology,  though  they 
had  no  excuse  to  offer  for  their  miscon- 
duct. 

Often  I  was  bluntly  assured  that  I  had 
made  a  fool  of  myself,  and  that  in  less 
than  a  year  I  would  bitterly  repent  the 
step  I  had  taken.     To    these   assaults   I 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  \2J 

invariably  made  no  reply;   I  dared  not.    I 
felt  that  I  could  offer  my  friends  no  proof 
of  my  wisdom  and  honesty  in  taking  the 
step  I  had  taken — no  proof  so  convincing 
as  to  show  them  by  my  after-life  that  I 
had  made  no  mistake ;  that,  in  fact,  I  had 
done   only  what  I   ought    to    have  done, 
and  in  doing  it  had  left  nothing  undone. 
I  could  not  always  blame  them  for  their 
injustice  to  me ;  if,    in  my  earlier  years, 
any  one  had  assured   me    that    I    would 
eventually  become  a  Catholic    I  should, 
no  doubt,  have  been  more  indignant  than 
I  was  at  the  obloquy  now  heaped  upon  me. 
One  man,  an  old  friend  of  the  family, 
who  often  filled  a  seat  at  our  table,  met 
me  in  the  street  shortly  after  my  conver- 
sion.    I   saw  his  face    flush   furiously   as 
we   drew  near  to  one    another,  and   the 
moment   he   was   about   to   pass  me   he 
stopped  short,  shook  his  fist  in  my  face, 
and  hissed,  "You'll  shortly  regret  this,  my 
fine    young    fellow !"     Even   one    of   my 
most  intimate  and  best  loved  friends — a 


128  A   TROUBLED   HEART. 

man  very  much  my  elder,  and  to  whom  I 
was  like  a  foster-child — said  to  me  one 
day:  "I  must  confess  to  you  that  you 
have  fallen  greatly  in  my  esteem." 

Thus  I  was  gradually  cut  off  from  my 
old  associations,  and  a  high  wall  seemed  to 
be  hedging  me  about.  The  sudden  anger 
of  my  friends  and  associates  eventually 
began  to  cool;  amicable  relations  were 
slowly  resumed,  though  the  subject  of  my 
conversion  was  always  a  forbidden  one. 
But  those  friends  were  never  the  same 
friends  to  me,  nor  can  they  ever  be.  I 
had  lost  something  in  the  estrangement 
— I  hardly  knew  what, — and  it  was  a  sore 
loss  to  me  at  the  time;  but  for  that  loss  I 
had  gained  a  thousandfold.  I  had  learned 
the  mutability  of  all  human  friendship, 
and  learned  it  when  I  was  most  in  need  of 
the  sympathy  of  those  whom  I  had  loved 
and  trusted. 

New  sorrows  lay  in  wait  for  me.  My 
father  met  with  serious  reverses ;  the 
family  circle  was  broken  up  and  scattered 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  I  29 

hither  and  yon  ;  almost  immediately  upon 
this  trial  followed  the  sudden  death  of 
two  well-beloved  brothers.  I  was  left 
alone  in  my  modest  lodgings,  struggling 
to  obtain  a  livelihood.  Bereaved,  be- 
trayed, disheartened,  my  spirit  fainted 
within  me,  and  my  health  began  to  fail. 
It  was  then  that  I  found  Holy  Church  to 
be  my  sole  reliance. 


130  A   TROUBLED   HEART. 


XXII. 

My  confessor  and  chosen  friend,  a 
young  priest  of  a  cheerful  temperament 
and  possessed  of  great  vitality,  came 
often  to  my  room ;  whenever  he  found 
himself  in  the  vicinity  of  my  lodgings,  he 
would  drop  in  for  a  few  moments,  and  his 
presence  was  always  invigorating  and 
healthful. 

Seeing  that  I  needed  a  change  of  scene 
to  re-awaken  my  interest  in  life,  he  said 
to  me  one  morning:  "Can  you  conveni- 
ently give  me  two  or  three  days  of  your 
time,  and  give  them  wholly  to  me  without 
question,  for  me  to  do  what  I  please 
with?"  I  answered  that  the  days  were 
alike  to  me,  and  that  he  was  welcome  to 
as  many  as  he  could  make  use  of.  "  Then 
pack  your  portmanteau,  and  be  ready  for 


A   TROUBLED   HEART.  131 

me  at  seven  o'clock  to-morrow  morning. 
The  carriage  will  be  at  the  door." 

I  listlessly  acquiesced.  At  seven  o'clock 
the  carriage  was  at  the  door,  and  within 
it  I  saw  the  jovial  face  of  my  confessor, 
my  companion,  who  seemed  a  very  boy  in 
the  exuberant  anticipation  of  his  holiday. 
We  drove  rapidly  to  the  railway  station, 
and  were  whirled  away  through  the  green 
dales  of  spring.  At  a  little  village  not 
too  many  miles  from  town,  we  exchanged 
our  seats  in  the  train  for  more  lofty  ones 
on  the  box  beside  the  driver  of  an  old- 
fashioned  stage-coach.  There  he  made 
merry  as  we  toiled  over  the  breezy  hills 
and  bowled  through  the  warm,  sweet- 
scented  valleys,  taking  our  way  toward 
the  sea-coast,  where  we  arrived  at  evening. 

It  was  a  quiet  house  we  stopped  at,  one 
within  sound  of  the  sea-surf;  having 
good  fishing  in  the  stream  that  brawled 
beside  the  door,  and  good  shooting  among 
the  hills  that  almost  overshadowed  us. 
What  lonor,  lonor  talks  we  had  there — we 


I32  A  TROUBLED    HEART. 

two  the  only  guests  in  the  place,  and 
everybody  leaving  us  quite  to  our  own 
diversions!  what  long,  long  walks,  and 
what  sport,  also;  for  my  companion  was 
an  expert  angler  and  a  capital  shot! 
Dreamy,  restful  days  were  those  we  spent 
together.  While  he  read  his  Office,  pac- 
ing up  and  down  the  veranda,  I  swung  in 
the  hammock  among  the  rose-trees,  and 
envied  him  his  vocation.  When  our  hour 
of  rest  came,  we  wandered  down  by  the 
sea,  and,  throwing  ourselves  upon  the 
shining  sand,  just  out  of  reach  of  the 
waves,  he  told  me  wonderful  tales  of  his 
seminary  life  in  Rome,  and  of  the  almost 
daily  pilgrimages  those  collegiates  of  the 
Propaganda  make  to  the  thousand-and- 
one  shrines  of  the  Eternal  City.  "  You 
must  go  to  Rome,"  said  he;  "you  must 
not  rest  night  or  day  till  you  have  set  out 
on  your  journey;  nor  then  even,  nor  ever 
till  you  have  knelt  at  the  feet  of  the 
Vicar  of  Christ."  Thus  he  began  to 
awaken  me  to  life  again.     Once  more  I 


A   TROUBLED    HE 


enjoyed  the  sunshine  and  the  sea  and  the 
fresh  air  of  the  morning  ;  nor  did  he  pause 
until  he  won  a  smile  from  me,  as  he  laid 
before  me  his  plan  for  my  foreign  tour. 

Many  a  time  I  had  been  told  that  I  had 
only  to  go  into  a  Catholic  country  to 
become  at  once  disgusted  with  the  faith 
and  with  the  faithful ;  this  was  oftenest 
the  assurance  of  those  who  had  never 
been  able  to  see  for  themselves,  but  who 
relied  for  their  authority  upon  the  pub- 
lished works  of  anti-Catholic  travellers. 
Even  those  lukewarm  admirers  of  the 
Church  who  are  free  to  acknowledge  the 
picturesqueness  of  her  external  appurte- 
nances,imagined  that  I  should  be  shocked 
by  the  customs  of  the  country  as  I  drew 
near  to  the  fountain-head  of  the  faith. 
My  confessor,  the  story  of  whose  Roman 
life  I  had  learned  by  heart ;  who  had  filled 
me  with  the  traditions  of  his  college  and  of 
the  Propaganda;  who  had  made  the  way 
plain  for  me,  so  that  already  I  began  to 
feel  at  home  in  my  dreams  of  Old-World 


134 


A   TROUBLED    HEART. 


travel, — he  did  not  fear  to  urge  me  at 
once  into  the  fields  of  the  faith.  Nor  did 
he  rest  till  he  had  bidden  me  God-speed 
as  I  set  out  on  my  pilgrimage— a  pilgrim- 
age that  was  not  only  to  make  me  familiar 
with  the  Basilica  of  St.  Peter  and  the  pal- 
ace of  his  successor,  but  was  destined  to 
carry  my  weary  feet  along  the  Via  Dolor- 
osa, as,  with  uncovered  head,  I  entered 
the  gates  of  Jerusalem  on  my  way  to 
Calvary  and  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 


A  TROUBLED   HEART.  I 35 


XXIII. 

No  sooner  had  I  commenced  my  pilgrim- 
age than  I  received  unmistakable  and 
indisputable  assurances  of  the  unity  and 
universality  of  the  Church  of  God.  When 
I  entered  the  primitive  chapels  in  the  Irish 
wilderness,  and  knelt  among  the  impover- 
ished peasantry,  it  was  a  familiar  voice 
that  spoke  to  us  from  the  altar.  I  heard 
it  again  in  that  small  convent  far  away  on 
the  shore  of  the  Nile.  The  deep  and 
unbroken  silence  of  the  desert  was  over 
us  like  a  spell ;  the  plash  of  the  mighty 
waters,  mingling  with  an  occasional  cry  of 
our  boatmen,  or  the  sharp  bark  of  some 
Nubian  village  dog,  was  all  the  sound  that 
fell  upon  our  ears  for  many  days.  In  the 
midst  of  this  profound  stillness,  while 
even  in  our  waking  hours  we  seemed  to 
slumber,  suddenly  out  of  the  breathless 


I36  A   TROUBLED   HEART. 

morning  dropped  the  golden  notes  of  a 
bell!  The  blare  of  a  trumpet  could 
not  have  been  more  startling,  and  with 
one  accord  we  sprang  to  our  feet  and 
listened. 

There  are  no  bells  in  the  Orient.  Five 
times  a  day  the  muezzin  cries,  in  a  high, 
shrill  voice,  a  call  to  prayer;  and  because 
the  Mahometan  is  all-powerful  there  he 
does  not  choose  to  listen  to  the  bells  of  the 
Christian  Church.  Here  was  the  voice 
of  one  of  them  crying  in  the  wilderness, 
and  suffered  to  cry  only  because  it  was  in 
the  wilderness  and  far  removed.  We 
looked  with  eager  eyes,  and  just  before 
us,  upon  the  long,  low  shore  of  the  myste- 
rious river,  we  saw  a  convent  wall.  We 
sailed  up  under  the  shadow  of  the  wall, 
and  were  made  welcome  by  a  grave 
Brother  of  St.  Francis.  In  his  charge  we 
were  shown  over  the  quaint  old  building, 
its  cloister  fragrant  with  roses,  and  its 
cells  so  small  and  bare;  and  in  an  inner 
chamber,   hidden    away  as    in  a  fortress 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  I  37 

stood  the  holy  altar,  while  before  the 
Blessed  Sacrament  burned  the  unquench- 
able lamp. 

That  voice! — I  heard  it  a  thousand 
times  repeated  under  the  soaring  dome 
of  St.  Peter's  fane,  and  within  sight  of 
the  seraglio  of  the  Sultan  at  Stamboul ; 
by  the  waters  of  the  Greek  Sea,  and  where 
the  palms  cluster  along  the  reefs  of  the 
South  Pacific,  and  the  worshippers  are 
the  half-clad  children  of  nature,  who  have 
scarcely  yet  awakened  from  their  sleep  of 
barbarism.  It  spoke  to  me  in  perpetual 
reassurance  from  the  deck  of  a  ship-of-the 
line,  when  the  French  sailors  stood  rever- 
ently with  bowed  heads  and  recited  the 
Angelus  Domini,  as  the  sun  went  down 
into  the  blue,  fathomless  ocean. 

Shall  I  ever  forget  that  Easter  in  Jeru- 
salem, when  all  the  nations  of  the  earth 
seemed  to  be  gathered  together  under 
one  banner  and  into  one  fold?  when 
every  color  under  heaven  dyed  the  skins 
of  the  worshippers,  and  the  costumes  of 


I38  A   TROUBLED   HEART. 

the  pilgrims  were  a  pageant,  and  their 
speech  the  confusion  of  Babel?  Yet  the 
voice  from  the  altar  was  intelligible  to 
each  and  all  of  us;  and  the  priests,  who 
had  come  in  from  the  four  quarters  of 
the  globe,  spoke  in  the  common  tongue, 
and  could  speak  to  one  another  only  in 
the  common  tongue — the  same  which  we 
heard  from  the  altar. 

As  I  journeyed,  all  the  wayside  shrines 
throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of 
Europe;  all  the  calvaries,  with  their  ago- 
nies wrought  in  marble;  all  the  crucifixes, 
and  medallions,  and  pictures  of  saints  and 
angels,  with  swinging  lamps  that  twinkle 
nightly  before  them ;  all  the  fountains 
where  the  holy  ones  have  slaked  their 
thirst,  and  in  that  act  have  hallowed  them 
forever;  all  the  caves  where  they  have 
suffered,  and  the  cells  where  they  have 
lived  and  died;  all  the  inanimate  objects 
that  have  been  sanctified  by  touch  or 
association,  and  have  become  animate  by 
reason  of  this — all,  all  seemed  to  me  to 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  1 39 

be  personal  and  perpetual  congratulations 
and  felicitations  and  benedictions  ad- 
dressed to  each  of  us.  If  my  faith  was  a 
blind  faith  before,  it  was  almost  blinding 
now;  for  I  lived  and  moved  and  had  my 
being  in  the  actual  presence  of  these 
amazing  testimonials  of  the  unity  and 
universality  of  Holy  Church. 


I40  A  TROUBLED   HEART. 


XXIV. 

At  Rome  I  met  with  a  serious  acci- 
dent ;  my  horse  stumbled  with  me  in  the 
Campagna,  at  the  dead  of  night,  and 
together  we  were  precipitated  from  the 
edge  of  a  low  bridge  into  the  dry  bed  of 
a  creek.  My  escape  from  death  was 
considered  almost  miraculous.  My  first 
thought  was  of  the  Church,  the  cherishing 
mother  into  whose  lap  I  longed  to  throw 
myself,  trusting  all  to  her  wisdom  and  her 
power.  For  many  weeks  I  was  confined 
to  a  bed  of  pain,  but  my  heart  was  with 
her,  and  I  knew  that  every  day — for  my 
case  was  known — there  went  up  from  her 
altars  a  prayer  for  my  recovery.  She  was 
my  hope  in  this  extremity,  and  I  was 
always  looking  forward  to  the  hour  when 
I  might  once  more  enter  her  sacred  por- 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  141 

tals,  and  pour  out  my  heart  in  love  and 
gratitude  to  her  for  my  deliverance. 

My  first  visit,  on  my  recovery,  was  to 
the  Lateran  Basilica ;  it  stands  against 
the  gate  through  which  I  was  borne  on 
the  sorry  night  of  my  mishap.  O  melting 
hour,  that  found  me  a  cripple,  though 
convalescent,  dissolved  in  tears  before  the 
altar  in  the  mother  of  all  churches  ! 

All  the  bells  of  Rome  were  music  in 
my  ears — the  music  that  beguiled  me  in 
my  long  confinement ;  and  when  they  rang 
the  Ave  Maria,  it  seemed  to  me  that  ten 
thousand  glorious  tongues  were  loosed  to 
syllable  her  praise.  Never,  no  never 
could  I  escape  from  their  salutations,  for 
the  church-bells  ring  incessantly  in  those 
dear  lands.  Many  a  time,  in  the  solemn 
silence  of  the  Venetian  night,  have  I  list- 
ened for  the  clang  of  the  brazen-throated 
bell  that  proclaimed  the  midnight  hour;  I 
knew  then  that  in  the  cool  cloisters  of 
San  Georgio  Maggiore,  over  the  dark 
lagoon,  the  sandalled  feet  of  the  monks 


142  A  TROUBLED    HEART. 

were  seeking  the  oratory,  where  prayers 
are  nightly  said ;  I  knew  that  in  a  little 
while  the  Holy  Sacrifice  of  the  Mass  would 
be  offered  upon  a  myriad  altars — the  Sac- 
rifice that  is  perpetually  offered  ;  for  it  is 
always  morning  somewhere.  I  knew  that 
the  unceasing  prayer  of  the  faithful  would 
be  caught  up,  like  an  echo  that  rolls  round 
the  world  forever  and  forever;  and  I 
folded  my  hands  in  peace  and  fell  asleep, 
reposing,  full  of  love  and  trust,  in  the 
bosom  of  Holy  Church. 

Thus  it  was  that  the  faith  in  the  land 
of  the  faithful  affected  me.  Seldom  could 
I  pass  even  one  of  the  many  chapels  (the 
doors  standing  always  invitingly  open), 
without  entering  and  kneeling  in  that 
serene  atmosphere  for  at  least  a  few  mo- 
ments. All  care  and  worry  and  discon- 
tent stopped  without  the  portals;  those 
feared  to  enter  there.  What  if  I  knew 
that  I  was  to  take  up  the  burden  again — 
or  at  least  a  part  of  it — when  I  passed  out 
into  the  street  ?     I  knew  that  I  could  re- 


A   TROUBLED   HEART.  I 43 

sort  as  often  as  I  pleased  to  this  saving 
sanctuary,  for  no  one  could  prevent  me;  I 
knew  that  in  that  Catholic  land,  and  in 
every  land  where  the  Altar  of  God  is 
raised,  the  Church  was  my  impregnable 
fortress  and  the  strength  of  my  deliver- 
ance! 


144  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 


XXV. 

How  much,  how  very  much  of  our  reli- 
ance is  in  the  Fatherhood  of  the  clergy — 
the  clergy  who  in  their  divine  office  are 
the  oracles  of  God !  Where  are  you  now, 
young  priest,  who  first  turned  my  stumb- 
ling feet  out  of  the  darkness  into  the 
light?  Lost  to  me  in  the  unity  of  the 
priesthood  —  you,  the  merest  fractional 
part  of  the  whole;  — but  somewhere,  if 
you  still  live,  enlightening  the  ignorant, 
helping  the  needy,  counselling  the  per- 
plexed, giving  your  days  to  works  of 
mercy  and  your  nights  to  prayer. 

And  thou  who  wast  my  confessor,  to 
whom  my  heart  was  as  an  open  page, 
wherein  thou  mightest  read  to  the  last 
syllable — whither  has  duty  called  thee; 
for  inclination  thou  hadst  none,  save  to 
serve  thy  Lord  and  Master?     Admirable 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  145 

Order  of  reverend  and  spiritual  Fathers! 
With  what  zeal  I  sought  the  superior, 
who  had  graciously  summoned  me  from 
the  distractions  of  London  to  the  pastoral 
shades  at  Roe  Hampton!  I  could  not 
have  been  more  at  ease  in  the  first  mo- 
ment of  our  meeting  had  I  known  this  rev- 
erend  Jesuit,  and  been  known  of  him,  all 
my  days ;  and  so  we  walked  and  talked, 
and  viewed  the  riches  and  the  beauties 
of  the  mother  house,  till  I  was  loath  to 
leave  and  be  thrown  back  again  upon  the 
world. 

And  thou  unknown  and  unnamed  con- 
fessor, whom  I  sought  in  the  unparalleled 
Cathedral  of  Milan  (within  whose  splendid 
crypt  are  treasured  the  relics  of  my  patron 
Saint),  didst  thou  not  take  me  to  thy 
heart,  out  of  the  hurly-burly,  and  tenderly 
shrive  me,  and  as  tenderly  keep  me  by 
thee  till  thou  hadst  offered  the  Holy  Sac- 
rifice upon  the  sumptuous  altar  where  San 
Carlo's  very  body  is  enshrined?  —  never 
again  to  see  thee,  or  to  know  thee ;  but 
10 


I46  A   TROUBLED   HEART. 

thou  art  one  with  all  of  these,  our  Fath- 
ers, and  my  gratitude  is  thine  forever. 

Illustrious  Monseigneur,  who  unlocked 
the  mysteries  of  Rome  for  me,  and  made 
straight  my  paths  in  the  mazes  of  that 
mazeful  city ;  in  whose  home  I  was  at 
home ;  at  whose  hospitable  board  I  was 
made  welcome ;  who  led  me  to  the  feet  of 
the  Holy  Father  ;  whose  unremitting  kind- 
ness spared  me  many  a  grief, — shall  I  ever 
again  behold  you,  and  commune  with  you 
in  the  flesh,  in  the  old  fashion  which  has 
made  Rome  a  blessed  memory  to  me? 

Cowled  and  tonsured  monk,  whose  hap- 
piness it  is  to  dwell  within  the  City  of  the 
Holy  Sepulchre;  whom  I  sought  upon 
the  eve  of  Easter,  and  from  whose  hands 
I  received  His  Body  upon  the  Mount 
where  He  was  crucified, — have  I  not  the 
tangible  proof  of  our  most  precious  confer- 
ence, the  treasured  document  thou  gavest 
me,  and  which  runs  as  follows: 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  1 47 

[Sea/.] 

In  Dei  Nomine.     Amen. 

Omnibus,  et  singulis  praesentes  literas  inspecturis, 
lecturis,  vel  legi  audituris,fidem,  notumque  facimus, 
Nos  Terrae  Sanctae  Custos,  Devotum  Peregrinum 
[name]  Jerusalem  feliciter  pervenisse  die  1 2  Aprilis, 
anni  1876:  inde  subsequentibus  diebus  praecipua 
sanctuaria,  in  quibus  mundi  Salvator  dilectum  popu- 
lum  suum,  immo  et  totiiis  humani  generis  perditam 
congeriem  ab  inferi  servitute  misericorditer  libera- 
vit,  utpote  Calvarium  ubi  cruci  affixus,  devicta 
morte,  coeli  januas  nobis  aperuit ;  SS.  Sepulcrum, 
ubi  sacrosanctum  ejus  Corpus  reconditum,  triduo 
ante  suam  gloriosissimam  Resurrectionem  quievit; 
ac  tandem  ea  omnia  Sacra  Palestine  Loca  gressibus 
Domini,  ac  Beatissimae  ejus  Matris  Mariae  conse- 
crata,  a  religiosis  nostriset  Peregrinis  visitari  solita, 
visitasse,  Sanctam  Missam  audivisse  necnon  Sacra- 
menta  Pcenitentiae  et  Eucharistiae  frequentasse.  In 
quorum  fidem  has  scripturas  officii  nostri  sigillo 
munitas  per  Secretarium  expediri  mandavimus. 

Datis  Jerusalem,  ex  venerabili  nostro  Conventu 
SS.  Salvatoris,die  [date]. 

Fr.  Barnabassab  Tuteramna. 

[Seal!]  Secretarius  Terrae  Sanctae. 

But  it  is  all  the  same,  or  should  be  all 
the  same,  whoever  or  wherever  they  may 


I48  A  TROUBLED    HEART. 

be  —  whether  in  the  bogs  of  the  Green 
Isle  or  in  the  Celestial  City.  The  Father- 
hood is  above  us  and  about  us,  and  stands 
between  us  and  the  world,  from  the  Me- 
tropolis to  the  antipodes. 

How  often  have  I  fled  to  some  reverend 
Father  for  relief;  to  some  poor  priest, 
perhaps,  whose  meagre  fare  was  of  fish 
and  cocoanuts  ;  whose  house  was  thatched 
with  palm  leaves;  whose  labors,  corporeal 
as  well  as  spiritual,  were  far  beyond  his 
strength!  He  has  shared  his  crumb  with 
me,  and  by  his  cheerful  example  and  manly 
encouragement  has  given  me  new  life,  in 
the  hope  of  making  myself  worthy  to  be 
the  spiritual  son  of  such  a  father.  Many 
a  time  has  the  priest  of  some  provincial 
parish  set  out  his  cup  of  thin  wine,  his 
crust  of  bread,  and  his  lump  of  goat's-milk 
cheese — all  that  he  had  to  offer;  and  it 
was  offered  with  a  show  of  genuine  and 
loving  hospitality  that  made  each  morsel 
sweeter  to  the  lips  than  honey.  Even 
when  we  have  been  unable  to  speak  any 


A   TROUBLED    HEART, 


I49 


common  tongue  there  was  a  bond  of 
sympathy,  a  responsive  echo  in  our  hearts 
— a  brave,  strong  sentiment,  filial  and  fra- 
ternal, peculiar  to  the  Catholic  Church, 
and  utterly  impossible  in  any  other  faith 
whatever. 

Shade  of  our  most  Holy  Father  Pio 
Nono,  whose  powerful  intercession  I  now 
humbly  crave :  it  was  at  thy  feet  I  knelt 
twice  and  thrice,  thy  mellifluous  voice  I 
heard,  thy  hand  that  was  laid  upon  my 
brow,  and  thy  pen  that  signed  my  plenary 
indulgence.  Thy  blessing  has  consecrated 
this  precious  crucifix  now  hanging  by  my 
bedside,  and  this  statue  of  thy  great  pre- 
decessor, whose  chair  thou  didst  gloriously 
fill  so  many  years  ;  these  beads  and  medals 
passed  from  thy  hand  to  me,  sweet  saint, 
thou  that  wast  the  father  of  the  Fathers 
who  father  us!  Once  Bishop  of  Rome, 
head  of  the  Church  Militant,  Vicar  of 
Christ  on  earth — now  in  the  glory  of  the 
Church  Triumphant, — may  the  efficacy  of 
the  grace  thou  didst  impart  to  me  abide 
with  me  forever ! 


I5O  A    TROUBLED   HEART. 


XXVI. 

What  shall  I  say  of  the  strong,  beauti- 
ful, and  noble  sentiment  that  prevails 
throughout  the  Church,  and  which  is  not 
to  be  found  in  any  human  institution, 
however  loudly  it  may  boast  the  spirit 
that  is  supposed  to  inspire  it, — I  refer  to 
to  the  brotherhood  of  the  faithful?  Take 
the  whole  catalogue  of  organizations  and 
societies,  whether  religious,  charitable,  so- 
cial, or  political  —  secret  or  open, — and 
where  among  them  will  you  find  the  same 
temper  and  disposition  as  among  the 
faithful?  where  the  same  ardor,  enthusi- 
asm, earnestness,  courage,  and  unanimity  ? 
where  the  same  liberty  in  the  enjoyment 
of  the  supreme  privileges  of  the  sanctuary 
— fraternity  in  the  common  bond  of  love 
and  trust,  and  uncompromising  equality  in 
the  rights  of  each  individual  member  of 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  15  I 

the  Church?  The  prince  and  the  pauper 
kneel  shoulder  to  shoulder  before  the 
altar,  and  unburden  their  souls  at  the  feet 
of  the  self-same  shriver.  It  does  not  dis- 
turb me  if  I  find  upon  my  right  hand  the 
African,  were  he  never  so  black ;  on  my 
left,  the  swarthy  Coolie ;  before  me  the 
beggar  who  knocks  daily  at  my  door  to 
ask  for  food;  and  behind  me  the  presi- 
dent of  a  college,  the  actress  from  a  minor 
theatre,  or  the  first  artist  or  lawyer  in  the 
land.  In  all  probability,  they  are  uncon- 
scious of  my  presence,  as  I  usually  am, 
and  always  should  be,  of  theirs.  In  every 
case,  we  have  sunk  our  individuality  and 
have  become  one,  by  reason  of  a  common 
love,  a  common  hope,  a  common  trust 
in  the  saving  grace  of  the  holy  Sacra- 
ments. 

How  often  have  I  been  touched  at  the 
respect  paid  the  dead  in  Catholic  countries; 
at  the  reverence  with  which  the  business 
man,  hastening  to  fulfill  the  duties  of  the 


152  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

hour,  pauses  and  lifts  his  hat  as  the 
funeral  of  the  unknown  passes  him  in  the 
street !  What  pity  streams  from  the  eyes 
of  the  poor  woman  who  kneels  in  her 
humble  door-way,  and,  crossing  herself, 
prays  for  the  repose  of  the  soul  that  was 
never  known  to  her  in  this  life;  but  the 
body  is  borne  towards  the  cemetery,  and 
she  joins  her  prayer  to  the  many  that  are 
freely  offered  along  the  solemn  way. 

How  often  have  I  joined  the  sad  pro- 
cession that  grew  and  grew  as  we  trod 
the  rough  pavement  of  some  little  Italian 
town,  following  the  good  priest  who  was 
bearing  the  Holy  Viaticum  to  the  house 
of  affliction!  The  bell  was  rin^in^-  in  ad- 
vance  of  him  and  the  tapers  flaring  in  the 
wind;  and  before  the  door  of  that  house 
we  knelt,  uncovered,  in  the  rain  or  the 
shine,  repeating  the  while,  in  our  several 
languages,  the  Recommendation  of  a  De- 
parting Soul.  "  Pray  for  me  !  pray  for 
me!"     He  was  a  stranger  who  asked  it, 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  1 53 

but  he  was  a  Catholic  and  in  great  physi- 
cal anguish,  and  one  and  all  prayed  fer- 
vently, then  and  there,  for  his  speedy 
recovery  or  happy  death. 

In  the  public  eating-houses,  the  wine 
shops,  and  the  suburban  summer-gardens, 
where  the  Italians  and  the  Spanish  con- 
gregate for  pleasure  and  recreation,  lamps 
burn  always  before  the  shrine  of  the  Ma- 
donna, and  the  felicitations  on  holydays 
are  hearty  and  unanimous.  The  joyous 
congratulations  at  Easter,  the  universal 
sorrow  in  Lent,  especially  the  profound 
grief  of  the  community  when  it  passes 
bodily  in  an  involuntary  pilgrimage  from 
chapel  to  chapel,  to  dwell  for  a  moment 
upon  the  agony  of  our  crucified  Redeemer, 
and  to  mourn  over  the  tomb  where  they 
have  laid  Him, —  this  is  entirely  Catholic 
and  peculiarly  Roman.  Remind  me  not, 
O,  Brothers  in  the  faith !  remind  me  not 
of  that  dear  past  when,  by  your  side,  I 
made  the  daily  round  of  the  Lenten  Sta- 
tions in  the  Eternal  City ;   Oh  !  the  deep 


154  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

delight  of  those  Roman  days,  though  lost 
to  us,  forgotten  never  more.  The  almost 
childish  delight  of  the  people  over  the 
dainty  Cribs  at  Christmas,  and  the  inno- 
cent hilarity  of  Epiphany, —  these  and  a 
thousand  others  are  sentiments  shared  in 
common  by  the  whole  body  of  Holy 
Church,  and  prove  beyond  peradventure 
the  exceptional,  the  almost  phenomenal 
genuineness  of  the  brotherhood  of  the 
faithful. 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  I  55 


XXVII. 

How  could  the  faithful  fail  to  be  more 
than  tolerant — even  more  than  neigh- 
borly, one  toward  another,  when  the  Holy 
Sacrifice  of  the  Mass  is  daily  offered  for 
the  common  good  of  all?  "To  me  noth- 
ing is  so  consoling,  so  piercing,  so  thrill- 
ing, so  overcoming,  as  the  Sacrifice  of  the 
Mass,  said  as  it  is  among  us," — so  wrote 
the  great  and  good  Cardinal  Newman. 
He  adds  :  "  I  could  attend  Masses  forever 
and  not  be  tired.  It  is  not  a  mere  form 
of  words :  it  is  a  great  action,  the  greatest 
action  that  can  be  on  earth.  It  is  not  the 
invocation  merely,  but,  if  I  dare  use  the 
word,  the  evocation  of  the  Eternal."  It  is 
the  Sacred  Drama  daily,  hourly,  perpet- 
ually enacted  upon  the  altars  of  the  whole 
world ;  the  Passion,  Agony  and  Death, 
vicariously  suffered  for  our  sakes, — a  di- 


156  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

vine  tragedy  of  singular  simplicity,  of 
unparalleled  pathos,  in  the  witnessing  of 
which  hard,  indeed,  is  the  heart  that  is 
not  melted ! 

When  I  recall  my  first  impressions  of 
the  Mass — if  in  my  bewilderment  I  can 
be  said  to  have  received  any  impression 
whatever, — I  assure  myself  that  the  ma- 
jority of  Protestants  and  unbelievers,  who 
look  coldly  or  curiously  upon  the  altar, 
are  as  little  mindful  of  the  sacred  signifi- 
cance of  the  Sacrifice  and  as  unworthy 
spectators  as  was  I.  Oh!  the  loss  to 
these!  Do  we  not  see  in  the  gravity  of 
the  celebrant  as  he  bears  the  chalice  to 
the  altar,  our  Lord  entering  the  Garden 
of  Gethsemane?  It  is  the  first  scene  in 
the  mystical  drama,  and  every  breath  is 
hushed.  The  divine  One  is  burdened 
with  a  foreknowledge  of  His  doom.  He 
kneels  in  the  garden:  the  Holy  Sacrifice 
begins;  we  kneel  with  Him,  and  are  to 
follow  Him,  step  by  step,  to  the  very  end. 

At  the   Confiteor,   He  has  fallen  upon 


A   TROUBLED*  HEART.  I  57 

His  face,  bathed  in  the  sweat  of  blood; 
He  is  betrayed  with  a  kiss,  led  away  cap- 
tive, grievously  smitten,  and  denied.  The 
celebrant  turns  to  us  at  the  Dominus 
vobiscurn,  and  in  his  glance  we  see  the 
conversion  of  Peter.  Our  Lord  is  led  be- 
fore Pilate,  brought  to  Herod,  scornfully 
sent  back  again  to  Pilate.  He  is  spoiled 
of  His  garments — at  the  unveiling  of  the 
chalice,  —  scourged,  and  crowned  with 
thorns.  Pilate  washes  his  hands  of  the 
crime,  and  at  the  moment  the  celebrant 
moistens  his  fingers.  h  Behold  the  Man!" 
cries  Pilate ;  and  the  voice  from  the  altar 
pleads,  " Orate  fratres? 

At  the  Preface,  we  hear  the  warning 
bell.  The  awful  progress  of  the  tragedy 
is  watched  in  breathless  silence;  only 
from  the  organ-loft  comes  the  wail  of  the 
singers.  The  bell  rings ;  He  is  condemned 
to  death,  and  made  to  bear  His  Cross, 
while  His  brow  is  wiped  with  the  hand- 
kerchief of  Veronica,  and  the  effigy  of 
that  sorrowful   Face  is  retained    forever. 


I58    .  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

He  is  nailed  to  the  Cross,  and  at  the  Ele- 
vation of  the  Host,  while  the  chiming 
bells  mark  every  posture  of  the  celebrant 
at  the  altar;  while  the  torch  bearers 
gather  about,  the  smoking  censers  are 
swung  aloft,  the  flowers  are  scattered 
upon  the  air,  and,  if  it  be  a  Military  Mass, 
the  whole  body  silently  presents  arms; 
while  the  devout  kneelers  bow  their  heads 
and  beat  their  breasts  in  contrition,  lo ! 
the  Cross  is  raised  on  high  !  A  moment 
later,  the  elevated  chalice  seems  to  catch 
the  water  and  the  blood  that  gush  from 
the  riven  Heart  of  Him  who  died  for  us. 
In  the  Memento,  which  follows,  He  is 
praying  for  the  world ;  He  is  merciful 
to  the  penitent  thief;  He  thirsts,  and 
He  utters  the  Seven  Words  upon  the 
Cross.  (Here  the  Pater  Noster  is  loudly 
chanted.)  He  dies,  He  descends  into  hell ; 
and  at  the  Agnus  Dei,  while  the  bells  chime 
again,  there  is  the  conversion  of  many 
at  the  Cross.  In  Holy  Communion,  we 
commemorate  His  burial,  and  His  anoint- 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  I  59 

ing  in  the  last  ablution  of  the  celebrant 
His  Resurrection  follows,  and  He  appears 
to  His  disciples  at  the  Dominus  vobiscum. 
The  last  Collect  is  a  memory  of  His  forty 
days  with  the  disciples  ;  the  last  Dominus 
vobiscum,  of  His  glorious  Ascension  ;  and 
with  the  Benediction  descends  the  Holy 
Ghost  ! 

O  marvellous  Sacrament!  mysterious, 
majestical !  O  never-failing  source  of  joy ! 
what  a  privation  is  theirs  who,  having 
once  known  Thee,  are  parted  from  Thee! 
How  do  they  survive  who  trust  not  in 
Thee,  who  hope  not  through  Thee,  and 
who  seek  Thee  and  know  Thee  not  ? 


l6o  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 


XXVIII. 

Holy  Virgin,  Our  Blessed  Lady,  who 
hast  graciously  appeared  to  us,  and  who 
hath  appeared  only  unto  us  !  Mother  of 
God,  and  of  Christ,  which  is  God ;  Mother 
of  divine  grace ;  most  pure,  most  chaste, 
undefiled,  inviolate ;  most  amiable,  most 
admirable;  Mother  of  our  Creator  and  of 
our  Redeemer !  how  can  we  forget  thee, 
remembering  what  thou  wast  and  art  and 
ever  shalt  be ! 

Blessed  day  that  found  me  treading  the 
narrow  streets  of  Bethlehem,  kneeling  at 
the  Shrine  of  the  Nativity  glorious  with 
the  light  that  shone  from  clusters  of  golden 
lamps,  and  the  golden  star  in  the  midst 
thereof — the  star  that  is  adored  to-day  by 
the  true  Magi  of  the  earth  !  Day  most 
blessed  that  found  me  mourning  with  thee 
upon  Calvary,  and  beside  the  stone  of  the 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  l6l 

sepulchre,  and  descending  reverently  into 
the  grotto  of  thy  tomb  !  Blessed  evening 
at  the  close  of  that  blessed  day  in  Loreto, 
when  the  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands 
of  pilgrims  had  gone  to  their  weary  beds 
upon  the  pavements  or  among  the  neigh- 
boring pastures  and  vineyards,  even  there 
to  hymn  thy  praises  to  the  stars,  thou  Star 
of  stars  ! — when  the  young  monk  led  me 
by  a  private  door  into  that  great  temple, 
and  alone  we  entered  the  Holy  House 
that  was"  borne  by  angels  away  from  the 
desecrations  of  the  barbarous  infidel,  and 
at  last  set  upon  the  hill  whose  name  has 
become  glorious  throughout  the  earth. 
Blessed  beads  and  medals  that  have  been 
pressed  against  the  stones  of  the  Holy 
House,  and  laid  within  the  precious  bowls 
that  thou  didst  use  in  Nazareth,  and  that 
were  deposited  upon  the  altar  within  the 
Holy  House  where  thy  sacred  and  super- 
natural image  stands,  and  were  blessed 
again,  to  mind  me  of  my  privileges  then 
and   there!     Blessed    Rock   of   Lourdes, 


i6j  a  troubled  heart. 

within  whose  cleft  she  stood,  and  spoke 
articulate  words,  while  at  her  feet  the  very 
breast  of  nature  was  stirred,  so  that  a 
fountain  gushed  forth  as  from  the  heart 
of  it,  and  is  to-day  confounding  the  wise, 
and  making  wise  the  foolish!  Blessed 
souvenir,  thou  wee  statuette  of  silver,  in 
case  of  bluest  velvet,  that  hast  been 
dipped  in  that  fount  of  grace,  the  miracu- 
lous flood  of  Lourdes,  and  goest  with  me 
where  I  go,  a  talisman  most  precious ! 

O  Virgin  most  prudent,  most  renowned, 
most  powerful,  merciful  and  faithful ! 
whose  sorrows  have  wrung  my  heart, 
whose  joys  have  thrilled  me;  before  whose 
mirrored  graces,  as  set  forth  in  marble  or 
upon  canvas,  I  have  cast  myself  in  my 
extremity,  and  lit  my  votive  taper,  and 
anointed  myself  with  the  oil  of  the  sacred 
lamps.  Mirror  of  justice,  Seat  of  wisdom, 
Cause  of  our  joy:  if  but  they  all  might 
know  thee  as  we  know  thee,  and  love  thee 
as  we  love  thee  !  Spiritual  vessel,  Vessel 
of  honor,    Vessel    of  singular    devotion  : 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  1 63 

touch  their  hearts.  Mystical  rose,  whose 
fragrance  intoxicates  the  soul ;  Tower  of 
David,  Tower  of  ivory,  House  of  gold: 
shine  upon  them,  and  fill  their  eyes  with 
light !  Ark  of  the  Covenant,  Gate  of 
heaven:  may  they  be  made  worthy  to 
enter  in  to  thee !  Morning  star,  illumine 
their  everlasting  night ;  Health  of  the 
weak,  restore  them  to  the  bosom  of  that 
fold  without  which  there  is  no  strength; 
Refuge  of  sinners,  oh!  receive  them; 
Comforter  of  the  afflicted,  gather  them  in 
thine  arms,  and  comfort  them.  Help  of 
Christians,  aid  us  so  to  live  that  we  may 
enlighten  them  by  our  example.  Queen 
of  angels  and  of  patriarchs  and  prophets; 
Queen  of  Apostles  and  of  martyrs  and 
confessors;  Queen  of  virgins  and  of  all 
saints;  Queen  of  Heaven,  pray  for  us! 


164  A  TROUBLED    HEART. 


XXIX. 

Picture  the  barrenness  of  a  mind  that 
can  not  conceive  the  idea  of  a  saint ;  of  a 
heart  that  refuses  to  accept  the  amazing 
proofs  of  human  perfection  achieved 
through  the  aid  of  special  grace,  absolute 
humility,  and  the  purifying,  sanctifying, 
consuming  love  of  God  !  No  Protestant 
and  no  infidel  can  do  this;  they  are,  there- 
fore, cut  off  from  the  fellowship  which  the 
Catholic  is  permitted  to  share  with  the 
saints  in  glory. 

With  a  single  exception,  the  saints 
were,  like  us,  conceived  in  sin.  Three 
nativities  alone  does  the  Church  com- 
memorate—  our  Lord's,  Our  Blessed 
Lady's,  and  St.  John's;  but  what  a  cloud 
of  witnesses  assemble  at  the  Throne  of 
Grace  !  Consider  the  extraordinary  com- 
pany of  holy  angels  and   archangels;  of 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  1 65 

all  the  holy  orders  of  blessed  spirits ;  of 
patriarchs  and  prophets,  Apostles  and 
Evangelists,  and  disciples  of  our  Lord. 
Consider  the  Holy  Innocents  and  mar- 
tyrs ;  the  bishops,  confessors,  doctors, 
priests  and  levites;  the  monks  and  her- 
mits, the  virgins  and  widows,  and  all  the 
holy  men  and  women,  saints  of  God,  on 
whom  we  are  permitted  to  call  in  prayer. 
Their  supernatural  virtues  are  proven  in 
their  supernatural  acts;  their  miracles 
bear  them  witness  a  thousandfold. 

Miracles  ?  Not  in  one  of  all  their  mira- 
cles do  they  defy  the  laws  of  nature  ;  but 
rather,  there  is  some  subtle  and  superior 
law  of  nature  subservient  to  them,  and  to 
them  alone.  The  miracle  of  yesterday,  or 
of  to-day,  or  of  the  forever — the  blind  re- 
ceiving sight,  the  dumb  speaking,  the  lame 
and  the  halt  walking,  and  even  the  dead 
brought  back  to  life,  are  disputed  ;  yet  the 
incontrovertible  testimony  of  the  multi- 
tudes of  eye-witnesses  stands  to  the  truth 
of  each  and  all  of  these.   Miracles!  These 


I 66  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

are  our  inheritance,  and  nowhere  else  is 
the  like  seen,  or  heard  of,  or  dreamt  of; 
and  these  are  the  scorn  of  the  unbelieving, 
and  by  them  are  they  received  with  meas- 
ureless, impotent  derision.  What  can  they 
expect  who  hope  nothing,  trust  nothing,  be- 
lieve nothing?  On  the  steps  of  the  precious 
altar  in  Naples,  under  my  very  eyes, 
within  reach  of  my  very  hands  and  lips, 
the  congealed  blood  of  St.  Januarius  re- 
turned to  life,  and  bubbled  and  throbbed 
within  the  vial  which  was  twice  inclosed 
within  the  reliquary,  lightly  poised  in  the 
hands  of  the  Cardinal.  "  A  mere  chemical 
trick  !  "  cry  alike  the  scientist  and  the  sim- 
pleton ;  "a  trick  which  we  can  duplicate  at 
pleasure"  ;  but  they  have  never  duplicated 
it!  Nor  do  the  boasts  of  the  rationalists 
avail  aught.  *  Still  are  the  shrines  of  the 
saints  ablaze  with  the  glitter  of  ex-votos, 
the  bandit's  dao-orer  is  laid  at  the  feet  of  the 
Madonna ;  the  carbine  of  the  brigand  is 
surrendered  before  the  altar  of  Our  Lady, 
and  he  returns  into  the  wilderness  with  a 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  167 

heart  as  soft  as  the  lamb's  fleece  that  cov- 
ers his  broad  shoulders,  but  with  a  step  as 
proud  and  manly  as  ever  trod  the  earth. 

O  beautiful  ships!  hewn  with  deft  and 
loving  fingers  in  the  mariner's  painful 
leisure,  memorials  of  his  vow  when  deliv- 
ered out  of  the  jaws  of  death,  and  offered 
to  thee,  Notre  Dame  de  la  Garde.  Thy 
golden  statue  crowns  the  dome  of  thy 
temple  upon  the  hill-top  above  Marseilles ; 
like  a  glimmering  star  thou  shinest  upon 
the  watery  track  of  the  departing  voyager ; 
and  thou  sendest  afar  the  first  ray  that 
welcomes  him  on  his  return. 

O  touching  and  pathetic  testimonials  of 
grace  received,  indisputable,  unanswerable 
proofs  of  thy  miraculous  love,  Our  Lady 
ofLourdes!  There  is  the  treasury  :  the 
innumerable  crutches,  rests,  stretchers, 
strange  wheeling-chairs,  and  all  the  har- 
nesses of  torture  from  which  thou  didst 
deliver  those  suffering  ones  who  put  their 
faith  in  thee,  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes! 

O  saints'-days  and  name-days,  the  birth- 


I 68  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

days  of  the  soul  !  how  welcome  your  re- 
turn— thrice  welcome,  for  the  treble  joy 
and  peace  and  love  that  are  one  with 
you  !  O  saints  of  God  !  tempted  in  your 
turn,  alike  as  we  are,  but  putting  tempta- 
tion far  from  you,  and  dwelling  alone 
with  God :  you  teach  us  by  your  example 
what  we  may  strive  to  do  ;  you  prove  to 
us  by  your  victory  that  to  strive  in  your 
spirit  is  to  triumph  in  your  path.  The 
knowledge  of  your  weakness  is  our 
strength,  and  your  strength  our  shield  and 
buckler.  How  can  any  one  refuse  to 
know  you,  and,  knowing  you,  refuse  to 
love  and  reverence  you  ?  Even  in  death 
you  are  all-powerful,  and  live  again  in  the 
very  garments  that  clothed  you  in  life, 
filling  them  with  virtues  potential.  O 
everlasting  examples  of  the  infinite  beauty 
of  holiness,  of  the  unconquerable  power 
of  love,  and  of  the  unfading  lustre  of 
charity  and  humility  and  innocence!  We 
are  yours,  ye  chosen  of  God,  and  would 
be  one  with  you  !     O  intercede  for  us  ! 


A  TROUBLED   HEART.  I  69 


XXX. 

Alone  no  more  forever!  In  the  dark- 
ness of  the  night,  in  the  solitude  of  the 
desert  and  of  the  sea,  and  in  that  more 
awful  solitude  which  the  stranger  in  a 
strange  land  knows  and  suffers,  feeling 
himself  the  unrecognized  decimal  in  the 
infinite  multitude, — thou  art  with  me,  my 
ever-watchful  and  protecting  Guardian 
Angel !  I  know  not  thy  name,  nor  the 
fashion  of  thy  form  or  features ;  but  in 
my  dreams,  waking  or  sleeping,  I  seem  to 
see  thee,  clad  in  robes  of  beauty,  thy 
wings  folded  in  perfect  peace,  thy  shining 
brow  half  shaded  by  locks  celestial,  and 
thy  calm  eyes,  that  never  close  in  slumber, 
fixed  on  mine  with  a  glance  of  love  un- 
speakable. Often  I  must  grieve  thee,  for 
I  am  human  and  thou  art  divine;  but  be- 
cause thou  art  divine  thou  wilt  pity  and 


I70  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

forgive  my  human  weakness.  How  can  I 
sin  in  thy  sight,  immaculate  spirit !  how  can 
I  yield  to  the  temptations  of  the  traducer ! 
With  what  anguish  must  thou  follow  my 
wilful  and  stumbling  steps,  throwing  thine 
arms  about  me  in  the  moment  of  my  fall ; 
seeking,  alas  !  vainly,  to  lead  me  back  into 
the  straight  way;  pricking  my  conscience 
with  the  thorn  of  reproof,  till  it  cries  out 
against  me  in  thy  name  and  with  thy 
voice  ! 

Silent  counsellor!  how  often  hast  thou 
stood  between  me  and  the  unseen  or 
unheeded  danger  that  was  threatening 
me!  How  tenderly  hast  thou  smoothed 
the  pillow  on  my  bed  of  pain,  and  wit- 
nessed with  grief  the  torments  of  this 
poor  body!  In  my  saddest  hour,  per- 
chance, thou  hast  mingled  thy  tears  with 
mine,  and  folded  me  to  thy  heart  to  com- 
passionate me — and  I  not  mindful  of  thee ! 
Heavenly  guest,  whose  home  is  in  my 
heart,  I  give  thee  a  thousand  times  ten 
thousand    welcomes!     Let   me   not   lose 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  \J\ 

thee,  nor  forget  thee,  nor  cease  from  re- 
posing trustfully  in  thee,  O  loving  and 
beloved  !  In  my  last  hour  may  thy  arms 
receive  my  fainting  soul,  and  thy  bosom 
sustain  it  in  its  agony  ! 


I72  A   TROUBLED    HEART, 


XXXI. 

I  do  not  know  what  hope  the  Protestant 
has  in  the  future  of  the  departed  soul.  As 
for  the  infidel,  he  has  none  whatever,  and 
this  is  his  pitiful  boast.  The  Protestant 
believer  launches  the  spirit  into  space; 
from  that  melancholy  moment  it  is  no 
more  to  him  than  a  memory — a  memory 
which,  in  the  course  of  nature,  must  fade 
away.  He  hopes  to  follow  in  due  season, 
and  vaguely  hopes  to  find  his  own  some- 
where amonor  the  innumerable  hosts  of 
the  immortals;  but  until  that  hour  has 
come  there  is  an  absolute  separation,  a 
complete  sundering  of  all  the  natural  ties 
of  affinity  and  consanguinity.  The  sepa- 
ration is  as  absolute,  the  sundering  as 
complete,  as  if  a  fathomless  pit  yawned 
between  them — a  pit  whose  awful  depths 
echo  no  voice  of  hope,  and  from  whose 


A   TROUBLED   HEART.  I  73 

distant  limits  shines  no  familiar  or  unfa- 
miliar form.  Their  fellowship  ends  with 
the  grave.  Can  anything  be  sadder  than 
this?  Of  course,  no  reasonable  being, 
within  whose  soul  has  sprung  one  aspira- 
tion, however  feeble,  can  for  a  moment 
tolerate  the  theory  of  total  annihilation. 

There  are  Protestants  who  believe  that 
"  hell  is  paved  with  infant  skulls  not  a 
span  long."  There  are  some  who  believe 
in  universal  salvation  ;  how  could  heaven 
be-more  desirable  than  earth  in  such  a 
case?  But  the  majority  of  Protestants 
are  quite  unsettled  as  to  exactly  what 
they  believe  and  what  disbelieve.  How 
miserable  must  be  this  state  of  uncer- 
tainty;  how  cheerless  the  thought  of  a 
future  life  ;  how  bitter  the  pang  of  death! 
Suffered  to  die  helplessly,  without  the 
aid  of  the  sacraments,  and  dismissed  into 
the  mysterious  chamber  beyond  the  veil, 
alone,  unguided  and  unaided  ;  its  heavenly 
guardian  unheeded  in  death  as  in  life; 
the   communion    of  the  saints   unrecog- 


174,  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

nized;  the  glory  and  the  majesty  and  the 
might  of  that  love  which  streams  from  the 
Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus  and  of  Mary  most 
clement,  Mother  of  our  Redeemer,  denied 
and  derided: — what  has  not  the  Protest- 
ant soul  to  unlearn,  and  what  to  learn 
after  that,  before  it  can  enjoy  the  repose 
of  the  faithful? 

O  Death!  where  is  thy  sting?  O 
Grave  !  where  is  thy  victory,  when  by  the 
side  of  the  bed  of  death  stands  the  one 
into  whose  hands  is  given  the  power  to 
loose  and  to  bind  sin  ?  Contrast  the 
death  of  the  Protestant  with  the  death  of 
the  good  Catholic.  I  have  already  pic- 
tured the  former,  and  now  it  is  the  latter 
that  we  look  on,  while  the  prayers  for  the 
sick  are  said,  and  the  last  Sacraments  are 
solemnly  administered  ;  while  the  dying 
eyes  are  fixed  upon  the  image  of  our  cru- 
cified Redeemer  and  of  Our  Lady  of  Sor- 
rows ;  while  the  blessed  candle  is  in 
readiness,  and  the  blessed  water  is  sprink- 
led from  time  to  time  over  and  about  the 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  175 

devoted  pillow;  while  perpetual  aspira- 
tions hover  upon  the  lips,  and  the  "  Last 
Sighs  of  the  Dying"  are  breathed  into  the 
ear;  while  each  throb  of  the  heart  re- 
sponds to  the  thrice  blessed  names  of 
Jesus,  Mary,  and  Joseph;  when  the 
"  Recommendation  of  a  Departing  Soul " 
— that  glorious  prayer,  upon  the  wings  of 
which  it  is  borne  heavenward — is  recited: 

"Receive  Thy  servant,  O  Lord!  into  the 
place  of  salvation,  which  he  hopes  from 
Thy  mercy.     Amen. 

"Deliver,  O  Lord!  the  soul  of  Thy 
servant  from  all  danger  of  hell,  from  all 
pain  and  tribulation.     Amen. 

"  Deliver,  O  Lord!  the  soul  of  Thy  ser- 
vant, as  Thou  didst  deliver  Enoch  and 
Elias  from  the  common  death  of  the 
world.     Amen. 

"As  Thou  didst  deliver  Noe  from  the 
flood;  Abraham  from  the  midst  of  the 
Chaldeans;  Job  from  all  his  afflictions; 
Isaac  from  sacrifice ;  Lot  from  the  flames 
of  Sodom  ;  Moses  from  the  hands  of  Pha- 


I76  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

raoh;  Daniel  from  the  lions'  den;  the 
three  children  from  the  fiery  furnace,  and 
from  the  hands  of  an  unmerciful  king; 
Susanna  from  her  false  accusers ;  David 
from  the  hands  of  Goliath  and  Saul ;  and 
as  Thou  didst  deliver  that  blessed  virgin 
and  martyr,  St.  Thecla,  from  most  cruel 
torments,  so  vouchsafe  to  deliver  the 
soul  of  this  Thy  servant,  and  bring  it  to 
the  participation  of  Thy  heavenly  joys. 
Amen." 

So  passes  the  faithful  soul  to  judgment ; 
after  which,  if  not  ushered  at  once  into 
the  ineffable  glory  of  the  Father,  it  pauses 
for  a  season  in  the  perpetual  twilight  of 
that  border  land  where  the  spirit  is  purged 
of  the  very  memory  of  sin.  Even  as  our 
Lord  Himself  descended  into  Limbo;  as 
He  died  for  us,  but  rose  again  from  the 
dead  and  ascended  into  heaven,  so  we 
hope  to  rise  and  follow  Him, — sustained 
by  the  unceasing  prayers  of  the  Church, 
the  intercession  of  the  saints,  and  all  the 
choirs  of  the  just,  who  are  called  on  night 


A   TROUBLED    HEART.  I  77 

and  day,  and  also  by  the  prayers  and 
pleadings  of  those  who  have  loved  us  and 
who  are  still  in  the  land  of  the  living. 

The  prayers  that  ease  the  pangs  of  pur- 
gatory, the  Requiem,  the  Miserere,  the 
De  profundis — these  are  the  golden  stairs 
upon  which  the  soul  of  the  redeemed 
ascends  into  everlasting  joy.  Even  the 
Protestant  Laureate  of  England  has  con- 
fessed the  poetical  justice  and  truth  of 
this,  and  into  the  mouth  of  the  dying 
Arthur — that  worthy  knight  —  he  puts 
these  words: 

"  Pray  for  my  soul  !     More  things  are  wrought  by  prayer 
Than  this  world  dreams  of  ;  wherefore  let  thy  voice 
Rise  like  a  fountain  for  me  night  and  day  : 
For  what  are  men  better  than  sheep  or  goats 
That  nourish  a  blind  life  within  the  brain, 
If,  knowing  God,  they  lift  not  hands  of  prayer 
Both  for  themselves  and  those  who  call  them  friend  ? 
For  so  the  whole  round  earth  is  every  way 
Bound  by  gold  chains  about  the  feet  of  God." 

O  ye  gentle  spirits  that  have  gone  be- 
fore me,  and  who  are  now,  I  trust,  dwell- 
ing in  the  gardens  of  Paradise,  beside  the 


178  A   TROUBLED    HEART. 

river  of  life  that  flows  through  the  midst 
thereof, — ye  whose  names  I  name  at  the 
Memorial  for  the  Dead  in  the  Holy  Sac- 
rifice of  the  Mass, — as  ye  look  upon  the 
lovely  and  shining  countenances  of  the 
elect,  and  perchance  upon  the  beauty  of 
our  Heavenly  Queen,  and  upon  her  Son 
in  glory, — O  remember  me  who  am  still 
this  side  of  the  valley  of  the  shadow,  and 
in  the  midst  of  trials  and  tribulations. 
And  you  who  have  read  these  pages, 
written  from  the  heart,  after  much  sorrow 
and  long  suffering,  though  I  be  still  with 
you  in  the  flesh,  or  this  poor  body  be 
gathered  to  its  long  home, — you  whose 
eyes  are  now  fixed  upon  this  line,  I  be- 
seech you 

pray  for  me! 

*  OP  THE     *^ 

JfllVERSIT 


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